Only War: the Gate Crusade
by Deadi1025
Summary: The Saderan Empire created the Gate and expected to find an easy world to conquer from the other side. Little did they know of the monsters they have foolishly awakened and unleashed. It was on the peak of Alnus that everything began. It is on the peak of Alnus that everything will end.
1. The Two Imperiums

**A/N:** I am a fan of the Gate series. Namely its Light Novel and its Manga. The Anime was disappointing. The premise of the franchise is amazing and quite unique compared to other Isekai stories. What show actually depicts an effective military? What other show depicts guns beating swords in a straight up fight?

Gate is a good show. On the surface, that is. As entertaining the books are, I personally utterly disliked the direction the show was focusing on in the later chapters. Namely the Harems and self insert character of the Main Character, Itami. He may be likeable in that world but he is not that likeable as a character to me. This is just my opinion.

Personally, I would have liked to see Gate as how It was supposed to be. A story where there is only war. A clash of culture. Battle between Science and magic. The Special Region will be facing off against both.

This is the first of my Warhammer: Only War series.

Enjoy the read.

* * *

Everyone in the Known World knows of Alnus Hill. The stories that were told of that massive bump in the very center of the continent stretched through the test of time.

From the scribes of Rondel to the bards of every tavern. From the grand palaces to the humble campfires. From epic tales of origin proclaimed by prophets to the humble whispers mothers lull for their children to sleep.

In a hundred tongues, by a million voices, from every corner of the Falmart continent, the story is told the same way. That all things began on the peak of Alnus hill. That the first steps of every great civilisation or every noble race were made on its peak.

But that is all it was to them. Nothing more than stories and legends of old. Reality was always so mundane.

Alnus hill stands as the lonely hill of the Central Valley. A massive hill that spread itself out by miles in the plains. Surrounded by leagues of rolling grasslands with sparse few trees and the Narrow River cutting through it from the southern mountains of Elbe.

Travellers pass by but never stayed long. Merchants and caravans trek its green sea but never settled. Villages grew but never lasted. Wars were fought over its soil but none ever took claim of it. Thus, Alnus Hill remained its lonely vigil. One of the many stories that were told.

But one auspicious summer's day, a new story about Alnus was made. A portal to another world was discovered at its very peak. Not by a scholar. Not by a Mage. Not by a Bard. Nor not by any Commoner. But by an Empire whose greed knows no bounds.

Everyone in the Known World has heard of the legends of Alnus. Where everything and all things began.

Everyone in the Known World will soon discover the Truth about Alnus. Where everything and all things will come to an end.

Xxxxxxxxx

"The senate calls upon, _Legatus_ Quintus Zu Godasen, to the stand." Senator Cicero announced with a sneer.

The Grand Imperial Senate chamber suddenly fell eerily quiet. The Massive white with all its bronze and gold statues almost made the entire building feel holy and somewhat angelic nature for the accused General Godasen. It would have been something he would have appreciated more it weren't marred with the obvious contemptuous air emitted by its Senators.

They glared at him with extreme prejudice. Their eyes fumed with searing fury. Tightly gripping their fine togas to the point of tearing. He was thrown into a den of snarling wolves. A fact that he had expected the moment he first stepped foot in the capital.

He only wished that the Emperor would see it fit to give him mercy. Namely through a generous beheading. But looking at him now. Seated at the head and at the centre of it all with the same stoic and unreadable face he always wore. A man who was as immovable and stood as tall as a mountain.

The Royal family sat next to him atop those steps. The crown Prince Zorzal sat on the Emperor's right with the powerful bravado expected from the Emperor's heir. Even as the man looks at him with utter disgust, Godasen still knelt to him as he saw him as the Empire's future.

On the Emperor's left was the Second prince Diabo. Ever the intelligent one. Ever contriving and planning one plan to the next. Uninterested by the events of now and only focused on the many possible futures. An act the prince displays even now as he looked upon him with indifference.

And then there was the Princess. The beautiful and ever dutiful Princess Piña. Seated next to her brother, Prince Diabo, she looked upon the poor Godasen with nothing but disdain. A just reaction given his most recent and most disastrous failure.

Godasen walked to the eye of the storm of utter silence and contempt. But he did so with pride and dignity, expected from any Imperial Noble, senator, and let alone a General, despite his gaunt and sickly state.

Draped in royal purple and laced with jewellery bearing his Family's seal, he marched towards the middle of the senate chamber alone. But he did so slowly and with a heavy limp. Not as a testament to his old age but as the means of showing the prejudiced senators of the legitimate wounds he had earned in his disastrous campaign.

He was disgraced but not yet defeated. He was a dead man but a soldier nonetheless. He made his peace with Hardy, the goddess of death, but not before he had his say to his Emperor and the senate. Not before he could tell them of his tale of defeat beyond the Gate and the monsters they have unleashed upon their world.

" _Legatus_ Quinctilius Zu Godasen, at your service. My noble Emperor." Godasen knelt low to the point that his nose touched the floor.

"That title has been stripped from your name, Godasen, the moment you abandoned your army." The crown prince Zorzal undutifully rose from his seat. "Alongside what is left of your credibility. You are nothing more than a plebian now. One who was lucky enough to be allowed be given this trial. But were it for me, you would have stepped foot in this city a head shorter than you were."

"And I accept it all willingly, my prince." Godasen said without raising his head. "But not before I have my say. Not before I tell you all of the fate of your armies. Your sons. Your brethren. And the enemy that treads our lands."

"That will be all, Prince Zorzal." The Emperor raised his hand before the brutish prince could spout another insult. His stoic gaze then turned to the old man. "Then speak, Godasen. Enlighten us. Tell us of this new world beyond the Gate."

"Yes, my Emperor." Godasen replied as he stood up to tell his tale.

"To all who do not know, I am Quinctilius Zu Godasen. Head of the Godasen Family. Royal Battle Mage. Loyal soldier of the Saderan Empire, a _Legatus_ of his Emperor's Legions' XVII, XVIII, and XIX for over 40 years. And until most recently, the _Legatus Superior_ of the Imperial Expedition Force to the Gate."

"An expedition that you disgraced!" A senator clamoured. Going so far as to toss a goblet of wine at Godasen's feet.

That small act turned the entire senate hearing into an uproar. All of them aimed towards the disgraced general. Every senator unleashed their pent up fury as they barked their anger at the man. Unleashing a storm of insults and curses to Godasen and his name.

"You ruined us!"

"Humiliated the Empire's name!"

"Give me back my sons!"

The guards with struggled to hold back the tide of men who clamoured for the old man's head. They struggled to keep order and tackled some of the senators who ran towards Godasen with knives.

"Silence!" The Emperor commanded at the clang of his sceptre. A command that the Senators quickly obeyed. "Continue, Godasen."

Godasen understood the senate's fury.

The Imperial Expeditionary Force to the Gate was one of the largest muster of soldiers and material in the Empire's 600 year history. A glorious memory that Godasen hoped to still remember before his nearing end. And not remember it as one of the greatest tragedies in the annals of the histories.

There were 12 Legions on the palm of his hand that day. 12 esteemed Legions from all corners of the Empire gathered in the base of Alnus Hill. Tens of thousands of sandals that quaked the earth upon their march. Hundreds of proud flapping banners from hundreds of notable and veteran cohorts. Tens of thousands of young and eager souls. Each longing for adventure as well as plunder that was promised. Over 70,000 Legionaries led by thousands of nobles from many distinguished families.

Old nobles who hungered for wealth and gravitas. Young nobles with want for battle and glory. Lesser nobles who dreamed for an opportunity to rise the ranks of society. Nobles who had a powerful living relative or two in the very senate who was currently judging Godasen in that very hall.

Another 40,000 more soldiers made up the auxiliaries. orcs, goblins, and beastmen swelled the ranks for the promise of battle and plunder. As well as act as meat shields and pack mules for the Imperials to exploit.

10 Wings of the Wyvern corps flying proudly overhead. 500 hundred of the best knights that the Empire has to offer atop of the most fearsome Wyvern dragons. Creatures that were as beautiful as they were terrifying as they screeched to their prey with bared claws and hot tongues of fire.

All of them were good men. Noble men. Brave men. Dead men. A burden that weighed heavily on the ageing General even now. A pain that ached him more than the wounds he had hidden under his cloak. A disgrace that he felt more responsible for than from the cruelest of curses the senators gave him.

"Godasen?" The Emperor called him. "You may continue."

"Y-yes, my Emperor." Godasen sputtered and he found himself once more in the Senate Floor.

"I gave the honor of first blood to our Wyvern riders who flew to the Gate ecstatically. The auxiliaries. The Orcs and Goblins followed suit with their blades and monsters. Not that they waited for my command to do so, however."

Some of the senators laughed at this. Even the crown prince Zorzal guffawed at Godasen's unintended jest. It is common knowledge in the Empire to treat demi-humans with contempt. Seeing them as nothing more than second class citizen whatever they may be. Nothing more as cannon fodder to be sent to spare them, the humans, with minimal losses.

"I had Numonius Em Vala lead our vanguard of 4 Legions into the Gate first before marching in my own. His progress was lost to me when I entered the New World. What I saw there was beyond anything I have ever seen or could ever believe. What I saw there. Beyond the Gate was an entirely different world very much unlike our own in every way."

The entire chamber peaked their ears to hear this. All of the were curious to know what the world beyond the Gate offered.

"The Gate brought our armies atop a massive plateau. A man-made plateau if you'd believe. One of concrete and steel with thousands of lanterns. High above the ground by miles and miles. One that neither our Legions or armies could fully occupy. One of countless many of different shapes and sizes surrounding us."

"That statue in front of the Gate was quite the prize. A statue of one of their Kings, I believe, that stood taller than our grandest of Towers. It shined brighter than anything else around it and had jewels encrusted at every inch. I ordered the men to topple it over and smash it to pieces for my plunder. Not that there was any shortage of treasures to be found there."

"Every street was paved in copper and silver that shined at the passing light. Each corner had massive statues of Heroes, Angels, and Saints of solid gold that sang hymns of music. Massive Bridges. Large enough for 6 elephants marching shoulder to shoulder led to other plateaus housing more treasure than we could carry."

"Thousands of massive spires surrounded us like arrows in a quiver. Spouting leagues away from the ground with peaks that pierced the sky. Massive spires that a Red Flame Dragon could perch on and be mistaken for a humming bird. But all that paled in comparison."

"These grey iron spires. These massive mountainous plateaus. Those churning buildings with their smoke belching chimneys. All of these man made wonders were just a small piece of a much larger monstrosity. Believe me when I speak, my fellow Senators, of it all being part of a titanic cities were as high as mountains where thousands of these titanic buildings stood. Dwellings and towers sprawling in all directions as it rose up high as far as the eye could see. I have never known anything to build such things. A living City-Mountain that could fit an entire nation under one roof. An entire nation of humans, no less!"

Godasen turned to his fellow senators that each wore a face of utter disbelief. Not one of them were able to imagine, understand, or comprehend the unreal and fantastical world that was describe to them. Even Godasen himself could not believe it still despite being there himself. It truly was all a wonder of another world. A world that would take him all day painting for the Senate for he knew that his short monologue of what he saw in those City Mountains could not give it status to its grandeur.

Godasen knew that they were all enamoured by his honeyed words and were more than eager to hear more. He would be more than happy to do so to delay his coming execution, but no. He knew that he still had a duty to serve the Empire and the need to tell of them of the enemy he has unleashed onto the land was more important than the fantastical tale he has told them.

The demons of that world has made its way onto their land. An enemy unlike any that the Empire has faced before. An enemy that threatens not just their Realm but the world at large. And so Godasen must tell them now of their foe and the godlike powers that they possess.

"Tens of Thousands of the gaily dressed outworlders were already dead and dying around me the moment I first stepped foot in that world. The Wyverns and the Orcs performed adequately with their task. Mercilessly burning, slaughtering, and throwing thousands to the endless chasm below. Thousands were enslaved and were marched back through the Gate.

"Many of them fell and were taken due to them being in a midst of celebration, my Senators! How fortunate that our campaign began on the day of their festivities! That they were wholly unprepared and were caught off guard by our assault. That they were too busy worshipping their gods. Too drunk in celebration to pose a challenge to the might of our Legions. Or so we were led to believe."

"That is not to say that these outworlders did not put up a fight. They did not take too kindly to our invasion and attacked us in a tide of great numbers and utter fanaticism. They were no soldiers nor did they have an army. But were nothing more than a mob of rabid dogs. A mob held by the leash by eagle-tattooed crimson priests who spouted devilish tongues and waved about massive unwieldy greatswords that roared just as loud as its wielder. I would laughed at the sight of an elder dragging those swords that stood larger than him. But after seeing that same elder cut a knight easily in two, I saw that they were no laughing matter."

"It lasted for two days as we were beset in all sides by large swaths of their half-naked warriors. Bloody battles were fought block by block. Street by street. Room by room. In the end, it is by our Legion's who persevered. Our discipline. Our iron will. Our polished steel. Not the outworlder's numbers, not their tattered rags, nor their wild red magics, thunder wands, hellish flames, and mad fanaticism. His majesty's Legions were the immovable rock in the face of an unstoppable force as our phalanxes held wave after wave. His majesty's archers blotted the sun with arrows as it fell on the outworlders like rain."

"The outworlders were in a retreat. Leaving behind much of the city open for our men to sack it unopposed. The flames we ignited that day and the pillars of smoke that rose was enough to blot out the world's red suns until both have aligned itself high above our heads at noon. As though our work was blessed by the sun god Flare himself. By the end of those two days, more than one god was honored by his Emperor's Legions. Not one stone of pebble was left unstained by blood from those who fell in battle fore Leagues on out in the wake of our advance. A fitting honor for the War God Emroy. The corpses we made that day would garner blessings from Hardy herself as we had enough bodies to make 50 titanic Monuments in her name."

The elder orator found himself at a loss of words. Abruptly cutting his speech short. The air around him darkened. His eyes hid themselves under the shadow of his brow. His body seemed to shrink before the eyes of the senate as he sunk under the folds of his robes. His hands began to shake. His ears began ringing. His eyes took him elsewhere.

Godasen began to remember.

Once again the old general found himself away from the senate floor. Once more he found himself in the world beyond the Gate. Once again he found himself walking amongst his soldiers and his Legions who were dying all around him on that same day. Once again he saw the skies turn black and the mighty storm that came afterwards.

Remembering all of this scared old Godasen. His memories of the past terrified him more than the reality of being killed by the powerful men who were presently surrounding him.

Once again Godasen's heart raced like beating drums as he began to see the horrors that destroyed them once more.

"We were fools." Godasen found himself saying. As though entranced under a spell.

"My fellow senators, there be demons in that realm. A realm we had mistaken for heaven became our hell. They did not emerge from the beneath the burning pits but struck us from the skies above. They rode upon flying ships that ride atop of clouds. Gigantic ships with the power to blot out the sun. The enemy we face are demons. Demons who possesses weapons and magic unlike our own. Demons who commanded the powers of a god."

"I watched stars fall from the heavens and lay waste to the earth. As though the Smith god himself struck us with his hammer. That alone destroyed the VII, XI, and IX Legions, half of our auxiliary forces, and most of our siege weapons. Regardless if it led to the destruction of their own cities."

"I watched their flying swords destroy scores of our noble Wyvern Riders out of the sky in a blink of an eye. Not one of our Riders could match them in combat. Not even our fastest of Riders could give chase to them as these flying swords disappear in a clap of lightning. Their bodies were torn. Scattered like autumn dry leaves. Their blood fell on us like rain."

"I watched my men – your sons – be destroyed and crushed beneath the heels of iron clad beasts. Monsters that were unlike our own. Monsters that spouted thunder and spewed tongues of fire. Unstoppable beasts that crushed solid walls like they were naught but sand. Arrows a d stones shattered before their skin. Ballistae bolts glanced off of it. Our heroes and knights could do little else but die in their attempt to cease their advance."

"I watched their red clad soldiers marched towards us like a well oiled machine. Standing tall even as arrows showered their ranks. Our phalanxes and sarissa pikes fell in the face of their hellish magics. Spells that can blast shields apart, rend armor asunder, and blast flesh to oblivion. The same for any knight, any ancient relic, or any blessed weapon we sent to break them."

"We had spread ourselves too thin and were too isolated in enemy territory. I have no doubt that the enemy used this to their advantage. Events were too fast while news came in too slow. Most of it sang the same tune: that our forces were losing with heavy casualties. By the time decisions were made, those Legions were either routed or destroyed."

"There was no honor in that battlefield. Only slaughter for my— our men. Thousands of them died without before they could draw their blades. Thousands of them died without getting the chance to shed blood on the enemy. I don't think that the goddess Emroy would allow them glory in the afterlife given how they all died so insignificantly."

"With little choice and the possibility of losing our entire army, I took it upon myself the dishonourable act of withdrawing. But the order quickly turned into a rout. The men panicked in the face of those demons. Running rather than facing them. I do not blame them. The enemy was relentless and they struck us as we retreated to the Gate. We lost all our Wyvern Riders and our Sorcerers when they dutifully sacrificed themselves to block the stars that befell us. What remained of the XVIII Legion took the honor of rearguard. To hold the line for the rest of us to escape retreats."

Silence befell the Senate. The burden in their hearts drowned out the flames of anger they reserved for the old general. Sadness and melancholy befell them. Some of them wept silent tears while some wailed. Crying at the horrid fates that befell their families and loved ones. Dying in an unmarked grave in a foreign world.

It would have been preferable if the story ended there. But the tragedy of the Expedition did not end there. It did not end there for Godasen.

"Barely around 10,000 of us managed to escape. All of us were direly wounded. All of us were utterly exhausted. All of us were traumatised from the experiences we've earned and the friends we had lost. Our camp atop of Alnus Hill was emptier than it was 3 days ago. Over 90,000 of our soldiers as well. I weep even for the demi-humans who died for us. All that remained were a few thousand camp followers, another few thousand demi-human levies who had just arrived, and the XIII Legion who I left as a reserve."

"Despite our defeat men instead celebrated. They wept with joy and kissed the earth and the grass of Alnus Hill. Thanking it for their survival. Calling it a miracle. Providence by their patron god. They treated it like a dream. Like nothing more than something to wake up from. But the nightmare remains. The enemy remains from the other side."

"It did not take long for them to arrive but by then we were ready. We surrounded the Gate with cohorts of men, Orcish pikes, deep ditches, and wooden were erected behind us while Siege weapons were prepared with the hardest missiles we possessed."

"I had fewer than 15,000 soldiers. Most were injured, frightened, and utterly exhausted that they could barely grasp their shields. The battle has yet to begin yet they were all already defeated. But I gave them purpose to keep fighting. I gave them hope to endure and to live. Purpose to hold the line against an invading enemy who were set to destroy their homes. Hope that we had a chance to win. Unlike the battles beyond the Gate where our forces were scattered, the army we had on Alnus were concentrated under my command. What enemy that emerges from the Gate would also be surrounded. Be forced in a bottleneck as to ease our task of destroying them piece by piece. To slaughter them and their beasts before they could mount a proper offense."

"Or so I thought. The enemy was cunning and taunted us cruelly. The dead heralded their attack. What emerged from the Gate were not any soldier or any monster but by a flock of skulls. Floating red eyed skulls. Bleach white skulls of our fallen brothers that flew above us and mocked us of our guilt. Of our cowardice. Of our failure. Morale quickly fell and panic ran rampant amongst the ranks. Even our officers ran from the field to escape those flying horrors."

"That alone destroyed our army. The appearance of the enemy's iron simply quickened the blow. Those beasts ran amuck and destroyed what was left of our Grand Expedition. Men threw down their weapons and surrendered, only to be mercilessly cut down by the red soldiers. We fled the field but never made it far as we were pursued by packs of tall two-legged Raptors with plumes of smoke coming out from its horns and beams of light that were spat out from its beaks."

"What few of us remained managed to escape through the bravery of what few remaining heroes of the Knightly Orders. The Knights of the Iron Hand, the Order of the Blessed Lance, and the Crimson Sons. Barely 44 knights saved us by charging those Raptors from the flank. Using the clouds churning dust that swept in the field to close in with their lances. I confess that I did not bear witness to this heroic battle but I saw its outcome. They had halted the enemy's chase. By the time the dust settled, I saw the brave 44 and their steeds lie dead in the plains. I saw the Raptors retreat while dragging three of their fallen dead back to the hill."

"The last I saw of Alnus Hill were the fires that scarred it and the massive plumes of smoke that blotted out the red lit sky. Smoke that could be seen shrinking in the horizon even as we galloped a hundred leagues away."

"That was the last time I have seen my sons. And I believe I will see them soon. If your decision over my fate is made final. All that I request is that you do it quick, my Liege.."

With the story thus told, Godasen knelt to the Emperor and said no more.

The Senate had heard all that they could and one by one, they sat down on their seats. Their minds full of thought as they pondered with each other. Discussing to each other and digesting what they could from the amazing story that was told.

Some shook their heads and called as nothing more as a raving madman's lie. A ploy of a fantastical world and conjured up a formidable enemy to justify his foolish defeat and save his own skin.

Some spoke to each other in fear of pondered on the story and saw it as a warning. A warning of a powerful enemy that they had foolishly unleashed onto their mighty Empire.

Others kept to themselves. Remaining silent with their own devices.

A handful turned to the Emperor. Eager to know of his decision. The others quickly took notice of this and ceased with their debates. One by one, every Senator in the Senate Chamber turned his eyes to the Emperor.

Even his own children turned to him and wordlessly asked the same. Their father said not a word throughout the old man's retelling of his defeat. Not once did they see him bat his eye, or grimace, or smile, or reacted to anything throughout the man's harrowing tale.

The Emperor remained stoic and immovable as a mountain the entire time. As if he was wearing a mask before them. His mind was an enigma. His intentions were a mystery. Only when he stood did every soul held their breaths and eagerly awaited the Emperor's judgement.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hundreds of miles away from the Imperial Capital and its Emperor, atop of the charred earth of the smouldering Alnus Hill, stood the forces of an entirely different Imperium. Loyal and faithful men and women who paid homage to their own Emperor.

Thousands of masked Guardsmen in crimson regalia stood in attention at the hill's peak. Thousands of them aligned themselves shoulder to shoulder in dozens of orderly columns. Every one of them stood next to their weapons that were firmly planted on the ground to their left.

In front of them was their regiment's Commander. An imposing man who stood regally from atop his personal Baneblade, _the Iron Harvest_. A white haired man with with a beard that was just as impressive as its owner's military record. He was a hero to the Guardsmen under him.

They saw him as a soldier of a hundred battles. A veteran of a dozen wars. A legend in many crusades. A true God fearing servant of the Emperor. But to himself, he was nothing more than Colonel Leksandr Suvorov. An old man who was given another war for the God-Emperor.

"Comrades." He addressed his Guardsmen. "Today is not a day of victory. But one that is of tragedy. The enemy committed high treason. One of the gravest of heresies. The defiling of one of Our Emperor's most Blessed Holy Worlds on the day of His Feast of Ascension."

"Our enemy may look human but they have lost the right to call themselves as one the moment they spat on the face of our Emperor by pillaging His shrines. Toppling over His statues. And murdering thousands of His most devout. Worse still is that they bed with the Xeno!"

"No. These humans are no longer Human. They are Traitors and Heretics. We fight not a war today, comrades. Today we wage a purge."

"The Emperor provides for the Faithful, comrades. Not only does He will us to cleanse this world of the invaders and their heretical taint, but we are also given a new world to conquer for our glorious Imperium."

Colonel Suvorov drew his sword and raised it high all to see. Its silver blade glistened red from the setting sun on the horizon and from the burning fires behind him. The Colonel threw it straight to the ground where it stabbed deep into the earth and stood upright for all to see.

"The Emperor has laid his claim on this world, comrades! By our faith! By our will! By our name as the Firstborns of Vostroyan 221st, make it so!"

Thousands of red uniformed soldiers raised their weapons high in the air and cheered.. Every Vostroyan pounded on their chests. Every Vostroyan bellowed great howls that echoed throughout the entire valley. They cheered blood pumping chants in their native Vostroyan tongue for the entire world to hear.

"URA! URA! KROV'YU NASHIKH VRAGOV! PO VOLE IMPERATORA! URA! URA!"


	2. Alnus Hill

A/N:

Thank you for the views and for the insightful comments. I honestly didn't expect to receive this much so soon.

As a special treat for the New Year, I give you Chapter 2

I enjoyed writing this chapter given my love for War, Culture, and Politics. So I went all out when it came to the different armies and tactics. I also took some liberties in changing some aspects of the creatures in the Special Regions. Namely the Existence of Orks and Gretchins in this world and some of the other demi-creatures.

A lot of you in the Reviews mentioned the use of the Vostroyans instead of the usual ones. Namely the Death Korps. The reason for that is because everyone else have been using them already! They're also kinda overused. I wanted my story to be unique. With my characters having personality to push the story forward. So I went for the more underrated Guardsmen.

My first choice was actually the Mordian Iron Guard and planned on making a plot line regarding losing their world and finding a new one here. But in my research I realized that they were nothing more than the Death Korp with faces. All I got out of it are bland characters in the drafts. So I went for the next best thing who possessed colorful attire and an interesting background, The Vostroyan Firstborn. You sill see my take on their battle tactics, russian-esque culture, and entertaining characters.

 **MrMither102 –** they shall and more. Ave, Deus Imperator!

 **hydrangea wine –** thanks for the review. And thanks moreso for the compliments. There was a lot of flaws in the show indeed and I mean to mend some of those wrongs. I also on making this story a long one so don't worry. You wont be closing this book soon.

 **wman243 –** this review board is reserved for Loyal Servants of the True Emperor. Please stand by for I am in the middle of reporting you to the Inquisition. LOL

 **Dyliokhan –** i'm considering the appearance of chaos but there are already knife-eared people, and Orks in this world.

 **Bruce USSR –** maybe. And no. The Imperial Guard are filling in for the JDSF. There are no otakus in this army, haha.

 **edboy4926-** thanks. You'll love the later chapters. And you'll love the fight I have planmed with the Flame Dragon.

 **TheExpL0DiNgaPpIE –** oh they will. Count on that.

 **Muricalover99 –** glad that you do. All I can say is that expect some characters dying. It's not Warhammer without it being Grimdark afterall.

* * *

3 weeks have passed since the Imperial Guard emerged victorious in the First Battle of Alnus Hill.

Not a trace of the Heretics remained on the Hill. Not a single tent was left standing. Every tower was uprooted and collapsed. Every palisade walls and rubble were dutifully cleared out. Enemy documents were compiled for study. Materials and resources were hoarded and recycled. This included their archaic armor and effects that the Adeptus Mechanicus took with keen interest.

The enemy's corpses were carted off to a massive pit near the foot of the hill to be burned. Thousands upon thousands of naked bodies lie there in heaping piles as equals. Orks and gretchins. Mutants and monsters alike. And humans most of all. A degrading and final insult to the latter. A deserving fate to traitors of their Imperium. For taking up arms against their own kind and for fighting side by side with the likes of Xenos.

No songs were sung for them. No epitaphs were written. No stone or stick marked their graves. Not one Ecclesiarch Priests wasted their breath blessing them for the afterlife. Not one Guardsman offered them peace. Traitors did not deserve to be offered the Emperor's paradise in the afterlife. Heretics did not deserve to be carrion for scavengers and allow their taint to live on through those beasts. What they did deserve is the cleansing stream of flames that doused them down to ash only.

Unmarked and unnamed. They were naught but dust to be carried off by the passing wind. Insignificant and forgotten. Almost as if they never existed save for a memory that will soon disappear.

* * *

3 weeks have passed since the Astropathic choir began their song.

One of the priority protocols of discovering a new Planet for the Emperor is ascertaining the location in the greater galaxy. To add one more planet to the Star Maps of the Imperium's territories.

Navigators are the main means of discerning this, sir but those mutants are usually reserved for the Imperial Navy. Another way was for the Astropaths – Sanctioned Psykers of the Adeptus Astropathica – to pool their powers as one and release a signal that only other Astropaths could hear in other Imperial worlds from lightyears away.

The 221st Vostroyan Firstborns' situation was considered unorthodox. The circumstances of their campaign was either unheard off or lost in the annals of Imperial Histories. With the aid of the Tech-Priests, a Communications Array was hastily built in the peak of Alnus Hill. Dozens of Astropaths from the Adeptus Astropathica were supplied from beyond the Gate. Together they channeled their Warp-blessed powers and sang a voiceless song that travelled the breadth of lightyears.

Days passed and the Communications Array was improved to strengthen their choir's powers and increasing its range only to be responded to by utter silence. Days passed by without a word from beyond. Days passed yet the choir remained resolute in their task. Unwavering to their goal.

A psyker already died from exhaustion. More were to be expected but this did not discourage them or the General Staff in any way. Psykers, though treated as valuable assets, were completely expendable and were almost never in short supply in the vast Imperium.

Like all things in their World, there are no tasks too costly and no sacrifices deemed too great if it brings glory and leads to victory for the Imperium of Man.

* * *

3 weeks have passed since Colonel Suvorov began entrenching his forces in the peak of Alnus Hill.

As vast and rich the lands around them were, the Vostroyans did not dare venture out from the safety of their hill. No scouting missions were made to asertain information from this world out of caution for any unseen dangers lurking in the forest and hills.

Though the planet was a far cry from being a Death World, many dangers lurked in the land. Stubborn pockets of enemy resistance stubbornly resisted any advance the Guard made. Large mobs of bandits scoured the open plains and attacked any outposts the Guard erected. Fearsome Creatures haunt the forest's border and easily tore vehicles apart like they were nothing more than prey. Mad psykers, human and mutant alike, roam the shadows and blasted Guardsmen apart with their mind. Foes that would prove too costly for the Colonel's forces if he engaged them unprepared.

Old as the Colonel was, older even than what would be expected for a soldier in the Imperium, he was by no means a coward. He was just as stubborn, God-fearing, and proud as any Vostroyan with grit. His ample age simply gave him a lifetime of experience learning about the Art of War. Namely the Art of the Long War. Or in lay man's term, choosing the right battles and winning the war without wasting too many men and resources so as to have enough of both for the next - and most definitely worse – ones. The latter being the most common prediction.

With only the mysterious Gate acting as their only means of contact with the Administratum, supplies and support are greatly limited for the Colonel and his forces. Although it was large enough for a Baneblade or ample enough to accommodate thousands of tonnage in supplies daily, the amount was still preciously too small and considered painfully too slow compared to the supply drops provided by the Imperial Navy.

To move out now without a proper fallback or support would leave his troops vulnerable to enemy counterattacks. Leaving themselves outstretched and open for the enemy to exploit despite how primitive their enemies may appear. A hard lesson that Colonel Suvorov learned painfully during his many campaigns against the barbaric Orks and the cannibal Kroot. Campaigns that he barely won by a thread.

The fact that they were in uncharted territory helped increase further odds of their victory. Thus, before any such expedition or advance could be attempted, the construction of a functioning base on the new planet was paramount along with exploring the lay of the land.

That task for now fell in the hands of the Skull Probes. These floating servitors of the long deceased Adepts were vital in mapping out the vast world. Save for the terror amd curiosity these Skulls induced to the local populous, the Skull Probes were mostly unmolested in their tasks. That is before they ran out of power. The most furthest they could go was only by about a few hundred miles before being forced to return or shut from exhaustion.

One auspicious day however, one particular probe caught a glimpse of something that the Colonel was exactly waiting for. Something that would also help alleviate the restlessness his Guardsmen had succumbed to.

That time arrived at the dawn of the 3rd week.

Long throngs of men peaked from the horizon. An army emerged alongside the rising sun. To the Imperial Guard, they were seen as nothing more than hostiles. To the denizens of the world, they know them as the Allied Vassal States. Great nations of men that swore fealty to the mighty Saderan Empire marched their great hosts to the Central Valey. Surrounding Alnus Hill and continued to pool its armies until the sun set and rose once more on the same horizon the next day and the day after that.

Twenty-five thousand men from the Kingdom of Elbe arrived first on the dawn. Their massive banners bearing the purple Raven fluttered proudly aloft with the morning breeze. Fifteen thousand Legionaries in their shining purple armor and their blades glittered across the horizon in staggering numbers. Thousands of Armored knights and horsemen thundered down the field while massive siege engines were pulled into position by engineers and bulls. Hundreds of battlemages floated inches from the ground while chanting wards and spells in an ancient tongue.

Thirty thousand more men from the League Principality arrived coming from oppositen horizon on the same day. Their men were dressed in green with a yellow trim. Ten thousand of their men were armed with pikes that casted a great shadow before their ranks. Like a great forest coming to life with Five thousand crossbow wielding huntsmen stalking in between clearings. Emerging from their shadowy glades to wage war from the tips of their impenetrable iron hedges. Another ten thousand men armed with a mix of halberds, greatswords, and polearms marched between the pike squares while Five thousand of their decorated Golden knights marched on their flanks.

Eighteen thousand Northmen marched under banners bearing skulls of human, animal, and creature alike. Each clan was rightfully named after each one. Their cold and desolate home made for hardy people. What they lacked in numbers, were made up by their fierceness in combat and their massive size that can dwarf a noble knight.

Ten thousand kettle helmed Northmen marched on foot wearing either suits of boiled leather, ringmail, or heavy furs. Fierce warriors armed with axes, long spears, and shields made out of toughened hides or strong wood. Six thousand shaggy haired horses raced down the fields carrying men with lances and longswords who were as wild and hairy as their steeds!

The last Two thousand made up of their clan's champions, the Berserkers. These battlescarred veterans arm themselves with a pair of long axes and wore the skin of the infamous Northern Bears that they have killed themselves. Skull bearing shamans in their moss covered cloaks amd bronze claws howled prayers to their heathen gods at the head of each warband.

All 3 armies encamped behind the river just a couple of miles short from the base of Alnus Hill with colorful tents. That same river has thinned to quench the host's massive thirst. A symphony of dying screams echoed the whole morning as hundreds of cattle were being butchered for the evening meals atop of a sea of cookfires that belched delectable clouds of scent for the passing breeze. Miles upon miles of slithering latrines were dug for the belly filled men to relieve themselves easily.

The Mudwan kingdom arrived the next day from another horizon. They brought with them an army of shining ironclad Knights riding with bright colored cloaks, dutiful and eager young squires, and gruff yeomen with bows and spears. All of them marched twenty-thousand strong. All of which rode atop of mighty war horses.

Each Mudwan rider bore unique colors and designs in their uniforms. But none so more than the knights with their ornate armors, unique colorful sigils, and blessed lances tied with bright laces. All together made the once bright green field into a sea of dazzling myriad of colors. A living rainbow with a bloodthirsty penchant for honor and glory. Massive clouds of dust were churned from their hooves. Leaving behind nothing but a desolate flatland in their wake. A grim fate to those who dared stand to oppose their pointed lances and thundering hooves.

The Aulac Confederacy of the South-lands shook the valley and filled the air of symphony of trumpets as they entered the valley with three hundred war elephants at the helm of their host. Their gigantic, hill-sized beasts of thick iron scales and hardwood towers on their backs. Archers and javelinmen in glistening chainmail stood proudly atop those towers. Proudly waving their banners as they laughed at the men they lorded over.

Their fellow allies, the Noble lords and proud celebrated heroes made way for them to pass. Namely to avoid the elephant's barbed tusks and club-like trunks. Lesser Lords and their armies of peasant levies quaked in fear under the beasts' massive shadows and shuddered at their every step. The Aulac's own men however, their levies with their crescent blade spears, curved bows, and bronze round shields, looked at them with pride. Vainly seeing themselves as untouchable in the field.

Another Horde arrived on the next day. One that, unlike the many already present, is made of monsters and demi creatures found in the darkest pits of the Empire. Many are made up of forty-thousand barbaric orcs and goblins armed with massive axes, spiked maces, and crooked spears with rickety shields. Dozens of Orcish chieftains rode on chariots pulled by wolves or boars. Screeching goblins held the reins and rode alongside them with spears and glaves.

5 Titanic giants strolled in the field with them. Filthy hunchbacked giants with heavy chains nailed onto their cheeks. Chains that were pulled on as reins by finely dressed Goblin chieftains who sat on makeshift thrones latched on the giants' neck where they clumsily steered the beast from foolishly stepping on or eating their allies. Makeshift towers were raised on the giants's shoulders and catwalks were strapped on their chests where dozens of goblin archers and slingers stood.

Many glory hungry Dukes and Lords of lesser houses only brought a handful of their house guards and a few hundred levies. What they lacked in numbers they provided with their wealth. Emptying their treasuries to hire Demi-human Mercenaries to bolster their nation's meagre numbers.

Around two-thousand Werewolves from a dozen different clans served the various Houses. Most of whom were sent to their patron's vanguard. Rallying under the shadow of their own fearsome Alpha wolf chieftains. They were bestial warriors who scoured across the field in great packs that scared even their own patron's horses and the men they stood with.

Three-hundred Warrior Bunnies hopped along the field and scattered themselves in the front of their patron's long lines. Acting as their patron's scouts. The Infamously barbaric and bloody pagan demi-human wore red war paint and light armor. Devilishly fast warrior-women that armed themselves with short swords and knives.

Two-hundred ogres lumbered ahead. These rock skinned beasts are known for their monstrous strength and enormous size that were as tall as a house. They are also known for their extreme stupidity that they could only follow the simplest of orders and only arm themselves with tree-trunk clubs, stone carved hammers, or boulders that they carried on each shoulder. Every handful were led by a much larger Ogres. Clan Leaders who either rode on top of shaggy rhinos, dressed in bloody trophies, or stood nearly as tall as giants stood at the head of their cohorts. Surprisingly enough, despite being one of the most fearsome of all demis were considered as one of the cheapest mercenaries by the treasurers. They fought not for gold but for food like cattle or sheep and the promise of a feast out of the enemies they slaughter.

Around Three-thousand Cat-people from their own clans mustered. The tribal hunter gathering warriors wore long spotted tunics, bone stitched armor, and fine-crafted headresses that were made out of their preys. Proudly displaying their long braided manes and bore finely crafted weapons like the curved glave, triple-pronged katars, round clubs, and whistling spears that were launched by stick throwing atatls. Unlike their canine counterparts, the Lion and Tiger like warriors did not deploy in orderly lines or packs. Instead they divided themselves in scattered mobs where every warrior fought alone. Earning trophies and scars from their strength and skill alone. Their mob's mighty kings however receive the honor of being at the forefront and thus draw first blood.

Seven-hundred short and finely bearded Dwarves arrived wearing the finest crafted armor and hardest tested steel they could forge. The massive axes and heavy hammers they carried were comedically taller than them. The same could be said for their bows and arrows. But the reputation these Dwarves skills with these weapons were close to legendary.

Even the sky was not spared from the rumbling masses on the ground below. Flying creatures with their riders of all shapes and sizes in the hundreds blotted out the sun with their massive wings. Every hundred serving a different army all flew in glorious formations to show their might to both their enemies and to their allies.

Dragons and wyrms roared with bared white fangs that spewed gouts of fire while their riders raised their enchanted lances high. Gryphons and hypogriffs screeched with their bared sharpened talons while their riders strung their bows and readied their javelins. Pegasus proudly spread their wings of bright colors and loudly neighed while their knights rattled their glowing blades.

Sirens and other intelligent winged creatures flew alongside them. All of them sang songs of war and shrieks of terror to those who willed or dared to listen.

* * *

3 weeks after the Vostroyan's first step foot in this fantastical world, did the enemy finish their muster.

By that time, the defenses of Alnus Hill were more than complete. Colonel Suvorov was confident that they are ready. He was confident that it will be the Imperium of Man who will emerge victorious. He was confident that his Guardsmen will hold the line. As they always had for 10,000 years.

Let the entire world come at them with all their might, the Vostroyans will slaughter them all. Or die trying.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Officers." The Colonel announced to the men and women present in the command center. "At long last, the God-Emperor has rewarded us with our patience. Our Tactical Cogitators summarizes this Great Host to be approximately over 200,000 soldiers. A far cry compared to what our regiment presently possesses. And all the more formidable."

Colonel Suvorov paced down the line of his most able and blooded Officers. Men and women whom he had fought with on may fronts since the day he had come to command the 221st Vostroyan Regiment many solar cycles ago. Men and women whom he had come to trust after overcoming so many challenges alongside him. Men and women whom he was happy to see did not posses a single hint of hesitation or showed despair in the face of such overwhelming odds stacked against them.

"There are over 200,000 soldiers gathered outside, comrades. Over 200,000 men took great lengths to assure our destruction. Over 200,000 brave souls dare to challenge us in combat and for the ownership of this World."

The Colonel paused to chuckle and fidgeted his great white mustache.

"Excuse me, comrades. But I do not see an army of 200,000. All I see out there are 200,000 corpses."

The Officers in the room laughed aloud.

"Now," Colonel Suvorov placed his hands on the rims of cogitator's screen. "How fares our attempts to make that so? Major Ordenski?"

"Yes, sir." A tall and imposing man with a dark grey beard took the stand.

With a press of a few runes, Major Ordenski had the cogitator display a digital map of the entire hill from a bird's eye view.

"Our main strategy for this battle is a defense in depth." Major Ordenski said. "A five layer defense. Each layer will maximize enemy delay and casualties, allow clear line of fire for our troops, while and allow fluid movement for our troops in terms of reinforcement, advancement, and - if possible - retreat."

"Our first line of defense will be charged to the Artillery division under Captain Basarov." Major Ordenski presented a copper skinned man with a heavy brow.

"Our artillery outranges all what their forces could hope to possess and are deployed to cover 360 degrees in all directions. Supporting each corner the enemy would dare make their assaults." Captain Barasov confidently said. "The tech-priests have supplied our Manticores with fragmentation rockets for maximum casualites and all our batteries are outfitted with High Explosive rounds. None of them would even see what hits them once our cannons are brought to bare against them."

"I would also like to point out that the hostile's camps are already within range of our artillery. We could wipe them out here and now if we willed it." Colonel Suvorov snapped his finger. "But no. Our mission today is not to only destroy our enemies. But to bleed them dry. Kill as many of them to the point that they will not be able to raise another army like this for the next hundred years. As well as fear us for the next thousand."

The Officers in the room mumbled or nodded to each other in approval. The destruction of the enemy here would also help make their invasion move much more smoothly given their weakened state.

"Continue, Major."

"Yes, sir. Our second line of defense will be the distance between the base of the hill all the way to the first trench." Major Ordenski pointed to the no man's land that took up two-thirds of the massive hill. "Engineer companies and servitors erected barbed wires, iron spikes, and Anti-tank obstacles every hundred yards all the way up the hill. HE mines, incindiary mines, and remote explosives are planted in between every sector. The clear view will provide our troops with unimpeded sights in multiple directions, multiple kill boxes, and increased pressure of fire the further they ascend."

"The third, fourth, and last line of our defense will be made up of these trenches." Major Ordenski pointed at one of the three zig-zagging trenches that circumnavigated the hill's entire peak. "Every trench possess three parrallel lines a few meters apart from each other and a foot or two higher further in to allow our troops to fire overhead of each other for maximum carnage of volleys and allow a more fluid and unmolested means of support and reinforcement. If the enemy manages to make it to our lines—"

The Officers couldn't help but laugh among themselves at the absurd possibility of that happening. The many death traps they have made would kill anything before anyone could lay a hand on the first trench.

"IF the enemy manages to make it to our lines." Colonel Suvorov spoke for his Major who also fell victim to the comedic absurdity by simply smirking. "Our first trench will be tasked with engage them in melee while the second and third line will support them. Firing overhead, maintaining pressure on further enemy advances, or covering retreats on the following lines."

"The weapons on these trenches will increase further in." Major Ordenski continued. "The trenches of the third defense line will have autocannon and heavy bolter nests, deployable-mortars, and siege guns. Chimeras and Hellhounds are added for support.

"The trenches on the fourth defense line will include the same. But with the addition of heavy mortars, static bolter and missile turrets, heavy quad-launchers, Manticore platforms, Hydra Flak tanks, and Leman Russ tanks."

"Emperor weeps if that all else fails. The last line of defense will be here. And our graves. Ceramite walls were erected on schedule with Bunkers, Hydra flak and Sabre gun platforms, and turrets. Emperor forgive us if THAT falls. Chance that it does, every building in this base will be our fortress. Every street corner will be a meatgrinder. Every trench will be our graves. Here's where every thing we have left will make its last stand and take as many men as you would. And the Gate will be destroyed with us along with it."

"Captain Taras," Colonel Suvorov pointed at the tall man with a wild mess of hair. "Your Hussars are key in any counterattacks and re-enforcements we may require for this engagement. You will also be supported by our Sentinel squads."

"It will be done, my lord." Captain Taras bowed.

"The same task falls to your divisions as well." Colonel Suvorov pointed to the other three officers of their Armored companies: Captain Zharkov of the Light Armored Division and for Tank Commander Varrennikov of the Heavy Tank Division.

"Yes, sir." The two officers saluted.

"Our defenses are complete. Our fortress, impenetrable. But a castle's true strength comesnot from its walls but from its men." Colonel Suvorov turned to a man who sat idly in the background. Someone that everyone, save for the Colonel, had forgotten stood in the same room as them. "What say you about them, Commissar Mors?"

All eyes turned to the black attired Commissar who wore an unsettling gasmask. The mood in that room suddenly became unsettlingly cold. Even for the Vostroyans themselves. A surprising reaction given their fondness for the winter.

The Commissar may not be the largest man in the room, but he had this surreal ability to make everyone else around him feel small. Every officer there held their breaths as they intently watched the black specter come to life. His clap of his heavy footsteps made their hearts skip a beat at every step. Meeting the man's eye made even the hardest veteran in the room blink and turn away. Hearing the man's raspy breath from under his gasmask made everyone's skin crawl.

Only Colonel Suvorov and Major Ordenski did not seem to be affected by this man's spell in any way. The sly glances they gave each other pointed out that they were enjoying their comrades' discomfort of the man.

"Tolerable. For now, sir." The Commissar said monotonously. The threat imbedded on those last words made some people in the room uneasy.

"Very good." Colonel Suvorov said. "I trust that you continue to do so. More so on the coming days, Commissar."

The Commissar simply gave a curt nod in respose to this. His mechanical breathing still struck the room.

"Comrades." Colonel Suvorov spoke to his everybody. "The enemy has saved us the trouble by gathering here before us. Let us not waste this opportunity. The enemy have come to us expecting a massacre. I would hate to disappoint them."

The Officers laughed amongst themselves.

Colonel Suvorov smiled as he strapped his Golden Vostroyan Fur Hat on his balding crown.

"My comrades of the 221st." The Colonel said. "Let us show these backwater _neveruyushchiy,_ the true face of War!"

"For the Emperor!" His officers saluted as one.

Two by two, they exited the control room to join their men. Major Ordenski left as well for a more active participation in the battle. All that was left in the room was the Colonel, a handful of Adepts, aides and advisers, and the Commissar.

That is, when the Commissar also made marched the door. His footsteps echoed loudly on the cold ceramite floor.

"Commissar Mors." Colonel Suvorov called from over his shoulder. The old man's eyes still gazed intently on the Tactical Cogitator's battle map.

The Commissar stopped on his tracks and crisply turned to the Colonel. The man's slow rhaspy breaths meant that he was intently listening. For a man who spent almost his entire life wearing a mask, Commissar Mors was quite an easy man to read for Colonel Suvorov. Especially when it came to his intentions.

"Do you think he's ready?"the Colonel asked.

"We shall see." Commissar Mors replied curtly.

"Let me know how he takes it." The Colonel turned to him with a warm smile.

"Will that be all, Colonel?" The Commissar asked after a short pause of silence.

"It is, Commissar. Carry on."

That said, the Commissar saluted with a clap of his boots and left the room.

XXXXXXXX

A/N: on the next chapter, prepare for an epic War.


	3. The Commissar

A/N:

Glad that I am getting some love for this little past time.

To those praising the Vostroyans and my work, thank you. Ave Imperator! And his Loyal Sons!

There was a Guest who commented about my Death Korp Commissar. And lack thereof of other Death Korp characters. My only retort is that despite there being Death Korps Commissars, I have never seen or heard of a Death Korps Commissar from Krieg. I refuse to believe that there are no Schola Progeniums in Krieg. Even the most backwater of countries have colleges. And so I made one. Commissar Mors. I also had him keep the gasmask due to his culture and that it makes him look cool. Also, no. He is the only Death Korps here. There will be no death korps soldiers in this campaign. If you want I can recommend to you some fanfics that has them. Theyre not hard to find. They are everywhere.

KnightOfZaku – I plan to have Space Marines, yes. But a secret as to who and they will come much much later. Give love for the IG!

Mercenary9814 – the entire Imperium hate orks. And I will be making some changes in the GATE universe and one of them being, there are Orks here. Feral Orks. Warhammer fantasy orks, if you will. With some added chages. Just to spice things up. We don't want things to be easy for the Guard, right?

Bruce USSR-there will be no JSDF characters here. And give credit to the Imperium. Theyre humans too and there's more to them just war. Just you wait. And yes, I plans for Rory and the Astartes

Obssessed Nuker – thanks a bunch and believe me, there is more to this story than meets the eye. Just you all wait. There will be a clash or religion here between the gods and the Emperor. Something never tapped into by other writers. Kinda similar to the Conquistadors in America.

KapitanCyka -love your enthusiasm and thank you. I plan on having some of those in later chapters but not so early in the war. Taking Falmart will not be as easy or as unrealistic as the Anime. CADIA STANDS!

FallenToHell – this is 40k. There are no good guys.

Bernardo Farrol – finally! Someone giving the IG the respect it deserves!

last admiral – loyal abhumans exist in 40k. I will tap into that and their prejudice in this story.

XXXXXXXXXX

The 221st Vostroyan Regiment's 9th Infantry Company stood halfway up Alnus Hill in full ceremonial attention. Hundreds of finely red clad Vostroyans formed themselves in neat little squares per platoon with a sea of black fur _papakha_ hats.

Hundreds of Guardsmen clenched their right fists upon their chests. The other held on their ornate lasguns that were firmly planted on the ground to their flanks. Its silver bayonettes were pointed to the heavens where it glistened under the sun's light.

The Heavy Weapons platoons' crews held their heavy weapons instead. Lascannon and Autocannon parts that were still to be assembled were divided between them. Both weapons and Heavy-Bolters leaned heavily on its gunner. Each stood either as tall or taller than them. Not that that the weight troubled them or anything. Such things were thoroughly drilled out of them in bootcamp.

A platoon from the 4th Light Artillery Company joins them in their own little square. Setting themselves up alongside the 9th as support with their artillery pieces. 10 of their gunners held deployable mortars while the rest held lascarbines in crisp attention. The wheeled artillery pieces in their arsenal, such as Siege Cannons and Hailfire Rocket Batteries, were left in their respective positions. Deployed in positions along the rear trenches along with the ammunition needed to feed such powerful weapons.

Four Chimeras were lined up on the Guardsmen's flanks. Plumes of black smoke were chugged out from their exhausts as their engines rumbled in place. Two of them had tongues of fire flicking out from its turrets. Their pilots and gunners peered upright from its two portholes. All of them stood in crisp attention.

Unlike their comrades of the line, crewmen's red uniforms were more compact. With coats that end tucked inside a belt instead of extending to the legs. Instead of _papakhas,_ they settled for fabric and leather woven tank helmets with earflaps that has the Regiment's number, thick goggles, and the Imperial Aquila stamped on its forehead.

Behind them were the labyrinth of trenches that encompassed the entire hill as well as the vast empty valley that was, for the time being, left untouched and peaceful. That is before the two camps of the Guard and the Allied Armies on the opposing ends clash.

The Vostroyans of the 9th paid them no mind. They instead had their backs turned on both the enemy and the valley below.

It would be a crime not to imagine these fine soldiers as something reminiscent to freshly minted toys in some holiday shop in the Winter Solstice. What with their bright crimson uniforms and their shining bronze decorum. A stark contrast to the dull barren hill they stood on. But beneath their red-lensed and dull grey respirators, hid a disciplined and well trained soldier ready for war.

The same could be said for their finely clad Lieutenants with their white _papakha_ hats. Noble Officers who stood in front of their men in a thin red line. Their hands held onto their own lasguns like a Templar's sword. Lasguns with brass axe blades on the woodstock's butts. The signature weapon of every Vostroyan officer and nobility. A sharp contrast to the curved-bladed bayonettes in their subordinate's weapons.

2nd Lieutenant Semyon Rostislav, the Company's Standard Bearer stood alongside the officers. The flag he carried proudly fluttered above their heads. But unlike his comrades with their _paphakas,_ bronze carapace breastplates, and red flak armor coats, 2nd Lt. Rostislav eschewed it all. Boldly wearing nothing more than his pants, belt packs ,and combat boots.

As much as he favored showing off his machismo, chest hair, ritual scars, and death sentence to the world, this way of dress- or lack thereof – was an age old Vostroyan tradition. One of their most symbolic one as well.

A great red banner bore the Imperium's sigil, the Regiment's Symbols, and Ancient Vostroyan runes. A relic that was passed down through the generations. Granted only to the worthiest of Vostroyans. A weapon that bears no blade nor any power save for its fearsome ability to inspire the men that look under its gaze.

The flags that Standard Bearers carry is the holds the identity of a Company. One that would outlive every single Guardsman under its gaze. The Regiments symbols dominated the red field while Ancient Vostroyan runes were marked on the rims. And above it all was the Emperor's Aquila. Forever flying. Forever vigilant. Forever watching all.

It was a great honor to hold one as only the worthiest and bravest of Vostroyans were given the responsibility. To inspire the men who fell under its gaze as a model of devotion, faith, and fearlessness. While also displaying the face of Man's perfection, purity, and dedication to his enemies.

Second Lieutenant Rostislav stood before them that day as that example. His armor is his faith. His banner is hos Company's light in the face of darkness. He is an embodiment of humanity's beauty and dedication to their cause. He will be the inspiration for his comrades and he shows them all that he was not afraid to die for it.

The Company CO, Captain Vasily Ozerov stood in between them all. His footmen were at his front while his decorated Officers and staff were lined up behind him. His attire is no different from his peers with the only exception being his flowing black cape with its shining brass epaulets, and a bronze _paphaka_ on his brow _._ Contrasting his officer's white and his Guardsmen's black fur hats.

He slung lasgun was slung over his shoulder like a woodsman on a hike. The axe-blade on the ancient weapon was a bardiche with a blade that was as large as an adult's arm. Enabling its user to cut a man in two with a single swipe. Sounds impossible to be sure, but one look at its owner would have you think otherwise.

Captain Ozerov was a large bear of a man. An intimidating one too as he towered over most of his subordinates. A head short away from looking at an Astartes, a Space Marine, eye to eye but was not as fearsome once you get to meet him. The Captain never goes out without his hearty smile and bellowing laugh under his massive oaken beard. Especially when he was in the presence of his troops.

"Comrades of the 9th, Comrades of the 4th!" Captain Ozerov spoke while he paced in front of his troops. "It is a fortuitous day. An important day. One that we will remember in our lifetimes. The enemy comes today pays us a visit. They are even dressing in their best just for us. HAHA!"

The Captain abruptly stopped on his tracks and them faced his men with a wild smile.

"And we will act as their welcoming committee." Captain Ozerov said to the laughter of his troops. "We will salute them with celebration from the flares of our cannons. We will sing them a song from the cries of our lasguns. We will light them a way by the flashes of our muzzels. Rolling for them a red carpet lathered with their blood. We will give them a greeting they will never forget! A boisterous welcome! Vostroyan welcome! One that is to die for, HAHAHA!"

"URA! URA! URA!" The Guardsmen cried out as one. Their fists punched the air.

The Guardsmen of the 9th loved him. A man they treated like a father, and they as his children. And like children, they were always eager to hear his jolly tune that always lighten any mood. As well as his booming voice that would invigorate them with courage. So much so that he could be heard throughout camp without the aid of a vox-hailers.

Even the Guardsmen of the 4th Company was not spared from the cheers and merrily joined in.

"We are the first line, comrades." Captain Ozerov continued. His words became serious and heavy. "The Emperor's eyes are upon us today comrades. Victory or Death, there is no room for failure. And the High Command honors us by providing us someone to assure that we are committed to that oath."

The troops stiffened when the Captain stepped to the side. Making way for a certain man to walk into the limelight. They right to be petrified. Terrified by the black clad manand the stories that were told about them.

Of how they could strike fear into the hearts of both ally and enemy alike. Of how a battle was turned by nothing more than command of their voice. Of how mere men were rallied and emboldened to fight by a single gunshot.

Creatures both loathed but respected by the Guardsmen of the Astra Militarum. The physical manifestation and voice of the Emperor's Will.

A Commissar.

"Sir." Captain Ozerov saluted as the man walked past.

Silence fell upon the ranks as the man approached. Doing so proudly with his right arm firmly clasped on his back while his left rested easily on the hilt of his chainsword that hung lazily from his belt. It was fortunate that they all wore their rebreather masks with the wide rimmed red goggles. For none of them would dare look at the man in the eye.

Everything about him was a stark contrast to his soldiers. His appearance made him stand out from his troops.

While the Vostroyans prided themselves with having long and luscious mustaches, this Commissar was clean shaven. Not a shade or stubble or a single hair to be seen under the man's sharp chin. Not that this troubled them or anything. But if he was anything else, they would have honestly not treated him with the same respect.

While the Vostroyans wore neat fur _papakha's,_ the Commissar settled himself with a peaked officer's cap. One that rested just above his brow. Wearing it at a low crescent that gave him an illusion of having a pair of eternally scowling eyes.

While the Vostroyans wore bright red regalia and shining bronze decorum, the Commissar's uniform was almost entirely pitch black and a similarly black greatcoat with a high collar. Collars that encompassed the sides of his face. One that gave his face a gaunt like appearance.

Even the red he had on him differed from the Vostroyans. The red on his laces, eppaulets, and cuffs were instead darkly shaded. Akin to blood. Adding in a winged skull on his hat and on his breastplate made the Commissar into quite a fearsome creature. A fact that made him stand out like a sore thumb amongst a sea of red clad troops.

"I am Junior Commissar Helmer Cadmar." The Junior Commissar spoke with a commanding tone. "Address me as such, or as sir. Do so with utmost respect and I may consider the same for you. I stand before you now as a soldier, an officer, and your comrade. And I only wish to say that it is an honor. An honor that the God-Emperor has bestowed upon me the able Guardsmen, the 9th Vostroyan Company, under my supervision"

The entire Company stamped their lasguns on the ground as means of showing their approval. The Junior Commissar in turn nodded to them in approval before continuing.

"Our enemies are many, but our equals are none. Such is one of the many truths revealed to us by the God-Emperor. Along with our right to conquer the stars. But our Imperium was not built on the strength of arms nor from innumerable numbers. But upon discipline, fortitude, and faith. Aspects that ensured their victory in every front. Something our enemies sorely lack. That is why they shall lose. We will not. I stand here today to ensure that you all do not."

The Junior Commissar did not possess the raw and booming voice of the Captain. But this did not make the man's speech ineffective. Quite the opposite in fact.

While Captain Ozerov offered an encouraging hand, the Junior Commissar displayed a commanding presence that demanded obedience. His voice was controlled and precise. Persuading them to lift themselves up from their fears. Inspiring them of the glories of their ancestors. Igniting a spark that set a blaze into their hearts.

"Guardsmen of the 9th, you are the First-Born of Vostroya!" He said to them. Raising his voice as to stress his point. "You will hold the line. You will fight your hardest. You will do your duty. You will pay the debt you owe our Emperor. You will not die until you have killed 50 men! Is this clear!"

"SIR! YES, SIR!" The Guardsmen responded loudly.

"Those who do not. Those who run. Those who fail. All shall become the same." The Junior Commissar pointed his Bolt-pistol at them. "An example."

That said, the Junior Commissar chose a random Guardsman and fired a thunderous shot. A cruelty made more cruel since his choice and the life he picked was so arbitrary.

The shot that echoed throughout the hill. The shot made other Guardsmen from the other fronts to turn towards the source of the sound. Some jumped back in surprise or dropped what they were doing.

Startled. Wondering aloud. Asking amongst themselves which poor soul got snuffed out before the battle even began. Others pondered if the enemy had begun their attack with their pants down. The thought did not linger long. A pause of utter silence followed before they considered it as nothing. Shrugging it off before going back to their duties.

The same could not be said of the Guardsmen of the 9th Company. Fearsome as it was, not one of them flinched, or quaked, or yell in any way. Nor would they dare do so in his presence. Out of fear that he would point his gun at them next.

The Junior Commissar's intentions were clear the moment they saw his fingers reached under his coat. A clear sign that an execution was at hand. That one of them was to die. An inevitable fate awaiting them all in the Guard. An inevitable fate that most of them have long accepted.

None has accepted this more than the Guardsman who was shot at. That faceless soldier did not flinch or even act in the face of death. Not a single step was made when it blasted apart a sizable hole a few feet from the Guardsman's own. Not a scream was made when shrapnel struck the Guardsman's polished black boots. Not even when clouds of dirt murdered its shine.

How the Junior Commissar took this was unknown to the Guardsmen. He simply walked past the Guardsman he shot without a single motion or word as he entered down their ranks.

The man hid his emotions better than their own rebreather masks could.

The Guardsmen's curious eyes followed the Junior Commissar as he walked past them. Some even went so far as to turn and follow him with their eyes. Watching him stop just a foot away from the trenches. Seeing him stand over the formidable labyrinth of earth, wood, and solid rockrete that encapsulated the entire hill.

As hard as it was to believe, the black clad terror made for an quite a sight. Especially when the wind made his greatcoat flutter like a cape. It was like watching a story of old come to life. A lone hero gazing upon the innumerable hordes that occupied the horizon. Fearless and confident that he could take all of them alone. A hero that the Guardsmen are honored to follow.

"Those are brave men coming for us." The Junior Commissar said as he unsheathed his chainsword. Pointing it at the valley at the roar of his blade. "KILL THEM! IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME!"

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" The Vostroyans cried out. Their lasguns were raised high. Stabbing the sun with their silver blades that shined under its rays.

With a swipe of His sword, the Vostroyans deployed themselves orderly to the trenches. 2nd Lt. Rostislav and his massive flag joined them and disappeared into the labyrinth with them. The Guardsmen of the 4th Company Light Artillery platoon joined them in the rearmost trench where they manned their cannons. The Chimeras rumbled themselves to position right behind them. Its turrets and cannons pointed outwards with some spitting out gouts of flame.

Morale soared to its peak. Raw courage pumped in their iron willed veins. Their minds were intoxicated by faith. This was to be their fortress. This was their Red Line. And of needs be, this was to be their graves.

XXXXXXXXXX

The sight of these Guardsmen marching to battle was quite a sight for Junior Commissar Cadmar. Being at the front seat for such events helps appreciate these kinds of things more. It was a scene he had seen over a dozen times before. But not once has he tire of it. He didn't believe that he will ever tire of it. He was also not sure if he will ever get a chance to see this again. And so he cherishes it at every opportunity.

This was the God-Emperor's Will made real that he was watching. A Crusade offered in His name. A step closer to Mankind's destiny. Its Manifest Destiny to rule the galaxy under His Holy Name. A destiny Cadmar and a Quintillion other humans strive to achieve. Until the day comes when He walks among them once more.

But before any of that could be realized, the Imperium of Man must first lay waste to the myriad and the countless Aliens, Traitors, and Mutants that bar their way. An enemy both within and without. The same army that was pouring of the horizon before them. An enemy that Cadmar could not wait to meet in battle.

His right hand would not stop trembling at the sight of it all. The limb shook wilder than his chainsaw that rumbled at its fingertips. His weapon that hummed with killer intent as it licked its lips like a predator on the prowl. Impatiently waited to sink its teeth onto something worthy. A notion that Cadmar could not help but share.

"Impressive." Captain Ozerov complemented behind him as the man approached. His command staff and the Lieutenants nod in agreement next to him. "Most impressive, Comrade Commissar."

"As it should." Cadmar replied passively as he turned to meet them.

Quickly sheathing his sword back to its scabbard as he turned to face the Captain and his staff in a proud stance. With his left hand resting atop his sword while his trembling right hand is firmly clasped on his back. Quickly hiding it inside his cuff. Balling it to a tight fist as to stem its stress. He gave his face an impassive look with a visage of coldness in his eyes. Emotionless and utterly austere to the eyes of the Officers.

"Your Guardsmen fear me. But they are now more akin to obey." Cadmar said. "A fine start, wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed it does, Comrade Commissar." Captain Ozerov chuckled. "You made all our jobs all the more easier."

"Perhaps we should shoot at our boys like that more often, comrade Vasily!" Lieutenant Gadriko guffawed with a heavy pat on the Captain's back.

This unleashed a storm of laughter among the Captain and his officers. Jests and conversation were exchanged between them. Most of which were spoken in the Vostroyan's own native language. Words that Cadmar was unfamiliar with and left him at a loss.

But Junior Commissar couldn't help but give a few chuckles in the face of these oddities. But not for the same reason, mind you. His laughs were not spent on the Vostroyan's jests and the merry laughs, but something that he realized there.

Politics are a big part of a Commissar's arsenal. Power plays and plots are their bread and butter. They are trained to learn to be attentive, manipulative, and decisive in the subtle art of negotiation. Or in Commissar Mor's words, make them do what you want without them knowing it.

How that man, a Krieger with little to no emotion or social skills, could be a master of the subject is beyond hysterical for Cadmar. The results speak for itself apparently.

A dangerous game is played between a Regiment's General staff and the Commissariat. The Officers and Generals share the same dislike for Cadmar's ilk as their troops. Namely because of the Commissar's ability to overturn their orders or usurp their command from their hands at a whim. Something they are powerless to stop. They can have also execute them like a common footsoldier if they deem them inept.

No permission. No honorifics. No processed paperwork. Just a public sentence and a bullet.

These are powers that make Commissars a pariah in the Imperial Guard. A literal outsider as well since they are not born from the same planet as their wards. These puts a target on their back and with the ones pulling the trigger are usually their own supposed allies.

Accidents and friendly fire on Commissars are not rare incidents. As necessary as they are as they are evil, not all Officers are keen to open their doors to Commissars but a tenuous peace are made to make sure things go swimmingly and for everyone to cooperate. And not end up on each others' throats.

Cadmar smiled among these officers because he realized that his game with them was set on easy mode. He deduced that the Vostroyans have a proud and festive camaraderie to them. One they express to gain and maintain cooperation. Cadmar realized that this makes them an emotionally based people. And emotions are easy to manipulate.

Their past was also a key weakness he could exploit. Their history was fulled with guilt and apparent dishonor. One that they are keen to mend and to repay for the sins of their ancestors. Sins that make Vostroyans into one of the most devout and God fearing people in the Imperium. That respect extended to the Imperium's Government.

Cadmar's position as Commissar, the embodiment of Imperial might, would have them treat him like a long lost Primarch judging by how he has been treated in the Regiment thus far.

"You have fine Guardsmen in your hands." Cadmar complimented with utter sincerity.

"They are, Comrade Commissar." Captain Ozerov replied proudly. "I trained them myself. Along with my brothers standing before you. We are a family here, Comrade Commissar. Thicker than blood, I say."

The word struck a chord.

"Family…" Cadmar mumbled to himself.

A wry smile found itself etched on his lips. One that was well hidden by the shadow of his collar. Cadmar quickly snapped himself out from his stupor and returned to his cold distant aura.

"Gentlemen. Captain." Cadmar addressed the Officers. "The enemy approaches and the true test as well. We must not leave the Emperor wanting."

"We shall live and serve in accordance to His Holy Will." Lt. Vokuta said dutifully.

"To Victory! To Death!" Lt. Gadriko cried out.

"The Emperor Protects!" 2nd Lt. Rostislav placed his hands together on his chest. Making the Mark of the Aquila

"The Emperor Protects!" The Officers responded in kind with the Sign of the Aquila.

"Yes. The Emperor Protects." Cadmar bowed his head and did the same.

All the other Lieutenant had begun making their way to their posts by the time Cadmar raised his head. The ones that remained planted on the ground were Captain Ozerov and two other individuals standing behind him. But before the Junior Commissar could get a closer look at them, the Captain's massive build was in his way and blotted out the sun.

"Comrade Commissar." Captain Ozerov spoke. "A word if you will."

"Captain," Cadmar nodded with some hesitation. "What ca—"

"Battle is upon us, Comrade Commissar." Captain Ozerov interrupted without noticing. "But not all battles are found in the heat of combat. One must fight at home as much as when abroad, as we tend to say. So allow me to present you with your own adjudant to assist you with your endeavors as well as a sign of unity between our Regiment and your Commissary."

"Thank you, Capt—" Cadmar said but was cut off when the Captain summoned a Guardsman to his side at the snap of his fingers. The Captain also appears not to have given that any notice.

"Introduce yourself, son." The Captain pulled out Guardsman's breathing mask.

The Guardsman who approached was a youthful young man with pale grey eyes. A thin chevron mustache was brushing under his nose and faint stubbles propped from under his chin. Given time, and the Emperor's generosity, the boy would have sported a thick beard himself. By that time, the boy would have grown tall enough himself and would not need to rely on his fur hat to be as tall as the Junior Commissar.

"Pvt. Volodya Olenov." The Guardsman nervously introduced himself in between a crisp salute. "Rifleman of the 221st Vostroyan Regiment, 9th Company. Comrade Commissar."

Pvt. Olenov's introduction and shuddering state exposed his youthful and naïve age. Something Cadmar immediately noticed even while the boy wore his rebreather.

Akwardness was added to that list when the boy offered his right hand to the Commissar for a handshake. A handshake that the Junior Commissar dutifully ignored but not the question of the boy's abilities in the field. As well as the question of whether or not he could trust him. The possibilities of a plot did not slip his mind.

"A relative, I take?" Cadmar asked the Captain after he spotted one or two similarities between the lad and the old Captain. "Son? Cousin? I would not be surprised if you all are a literal family here, mind you."

Cadmar did his best to hide any hints of his disdain for nepotism. Insulting the Captain, whether percieved or intended so early in the game, is a death sentence. More so when it occurs so close before a battle.

Either case, playing favorites is a common occurrence among the First-Born. A common mistake in his book as it went against his beliefs. But there was little he could do about that. Emperor be merciful that this wouldn't be mistake that would kill him.

"A nephew of mine from a second cousin, sir." Captain Ozerov proudly patted the boy in the back. "The eldest one, of course. As are we all, hahaha! He will serve you well, Junior Commissar."

"Let us hope so, for his sake." Cadmar said before turning to his adjudant. "Here is to hoping that you are more than just a name, Private Olenov."

The boy shrank inside his armor. His snow white skin turned deathly pale. But this did not stop him from quickly nodding in reply.

"Take this to my quarters." Cadmar said as he tossed the boy his luggage. "And then find me in the front most trench. Preferably before the battle, Private."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." The boy eagerly saluted.

Waving an impatient hand, Pvt. Olenov was dismissed. Captain Ozerov moved to the side for the boy to pass as he sprinted to the bunkers. The Captain's move allowed Cadmar to glimpse the other stranger in full. What he saw was not of his liking.

Regal layers of white and gray robes made up its attire with the owner's face being hidden under a veil like hood. The Ancient runes and symbols, both familiar and not, scribbled on the corners of the fabric confirmed Cadmar's suspicions of this person's identity before noticing the ancient silver and ivory staff it carried.

A Psyker. A pawn the Adeptus Astra Telepathica.

"What…is this?" Cadmar asked with a drop of venom in his lips.

The psyker speak for itself apparently as it pulled down her hood. What hid underneath and was revealed was a faceless mask of polished silver. Runes were carved into the corners in a language unknown to Cadmar. Her mask covered most of her face. Stopping only before it reached her dry chapped lips.

"Sanctioned Psyker, Ludmilla Tasilisa." The Psyker meakly spoke with a soft voice as she bowed. "An honor it is. To be in your presence. And to serve under you, Commissar."

The discovery of the Psyker being a woman did not catch Cadmar off guard. Nor did it interest him in any way nor did he want to know anything more about her. His attention was spent focused on the the faint twitches she made with her body. Especially the silver wisps of cold air slithering out of her lips.

These were questionable symptoms. Causes that made the young Junior Commissar instinctively grab onto his Bolt-Pistol in its sheath. Keeping it at the ready in case the girl's powers show any sign of going awry. That, and it helped keep him calm. Being in the presence of their ilk made him feel uncomfortable.

Suffer not the Witch to live, for their powers are unnatural and their minds drown in taint.

Outcasts. Witches. Freaks. Bolt Magnets. So many names reserved for just one backwater species. A mere class higher than Servitors in Cadmar's book. One step away from demonic possession. One leap away from unleashing demons and chaos.

Suffice to say that just like the majority of the Imperium, Cadmar has no love for their kind. And he does not hide it from his peers and to the girl. There was no guilt to his discrimination and abuse as their Imperium thinks the same.

Feared and loathed. Descriminated and prejudiced. Hunted and burned. Herded and broken. Just causes, all of it for they are tainted. Corrupted by the whispers of Chaos. Living doorways to the Immaterium Realm where Demons lie.

Whatever harm Cadmar could unleash to the girl would pale in comparison to the hardships and hell she has already faced in her life. She was raised to be a tool. Not as a human. But Cadmar was not above using her. She is still a useful weapon until the day comes when she isnt. But this did not sit with him that well.

"I was not briefed about a psyker." Cadmar hissed at Captain Ozerov.

"Command saw it fit to provide us one, Comrade Commissar." Captain Ozerov replied readily. Even he was obviously not so keen with the development. "Seeing as the enemy houses a considerable number of Psykers and witches themselves, it helps to have one close at hand on our side. An asset if you will."

"An asset?" Cadmar scoffed in disbelief. Treating the word like a bad joke. "Plasma weapons are more reliable than this one."

"The Adepts consider her trained and in control of her powers. They assured us that she is ready."

"I'll be the judge of that." Cadmar said as he turned to face the Psyker. A thought came to mind however that made him say to Captain Ozerov, "Oh, and don't go treating the Psyker like a Canid*. Its an insult to the loyal quadruped beasts."

"Y-yes, sir." Captain Ozerov responded.

Whether or not it was I intended as a joke or as a serious note was hard to pinpoint. But it was funny either way for the grizzly Captain since he was awkwardly holding back his laughter so as not to insult the Commissar. A struggle that he was obviously failing.

To Captain Ozerov's delight and relief, his nephew Pvt. Volodya returned to the scene. A scene that Cadmar also took notice. The boy was sprinting hastily to the trenches but stopped when he took notice of Cadmar and the others. He came running towards them then with his rifle on hand and his rebreather worn over his face. A sight that made him look like a soldier in the midst of a charge.

Clouds of dust erupted beneath Pvt. Volodya's feet when he came to a screeching halt. Before the dust managed to settle, he had already propped himself up in a full salute.

"Sir!" Pvt. Olenov said with a slight weight in his breath.

"Private." Cadmar nodded. "We depart to the trenches."

"Yes, sir!"

"You will also assist me with this psyker." Cadmar motioned to the girl. "I only have two eyes, Pvt. Volodya. I cannot keep an eye on both our men and our enemies. Keep her out of trouble and ensure that she won't be. But do not let that distract you to your own duties." He points at the boy's lasgun. "You know how to use that I hope?"

"Yes, sir." Pvt. Olenov replied without a hint of a question or hesitation while also cocking his rifle. Letting the weapon hum its charge at the ready.

Satisfied, Cadmar then turned to the Psyker.

"And you. I do not hide my dislike of you. And I don't care if you share my sentiment. What I do care is your usefulness in the Guard. Follow my ordersand my orders alone to the letter. And if you ever shirk or hesitate, I will send you to the Black Ship straight to Terra without any teeth. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir." She replies. Whether her trembling was from her powers or from her fear of him is up to debate.

The base's sirens suddenly blare a long whining note. The rumble of treads, boots, and wheels made the hill tremble as the Guardsmen ran to their positions. Echoes of the officers' commands were heard coming from the other sectors.

Instead of turning to the source of the of the noise, Cadmar's group instead faced the clamor in valley. There they watched the plains fill to the brim with a sea of glistening steel and a forest of colorful banners.

The Hordes that shook the earth at every step and sang a cacophany of music that polluted the air as they marched to the foot of the hill. The sky darkened as winged creatures blotted the sun with their numbers. Greedily taking the clouds for their own. Insulting the very memory of the Angel with the sight of their feathered wings.

Cadmar could not wait to see them blow up in the sky. He could not wait to see all these men turn to ash. He could not wait for them all to taste his blade. All in the name of the Emperor.

"I believe that we are done, Captain Ozerov." Cadmar said to the Captain with a smirk etched on his lips.

"Here's to seeing you after the battle, Comrade Commissar." Captain Ozerov took out an open right hand. "May the Emperor guide your blade."

"And may He guide your aim, Captain."

Cadmar quickly regretted the decision to take the Captain's hand. The promise of battle made him forget that his own right hand was trembling a storm from his excitement for the coming battle. Try as he might to hold it steady was a lost cause. His body was not his own at the time.

Simply stopping himself from shaking hands with the man was also not an option due to personal preference. It is considered improper and rude to deny a handshake after he already made a move to accept it. The Drill Abbot's brutal teachings in the Progenium were deeply entrenched im their minds. Commissar's were expected to be gentlemen afterall next to being strict disciplinarians. Cadmar cursed them to the Warp. Slighting the Captain was also not a good way to start an amicable relationship.

If their hands were to meet, he will be exposed. Exposed for a perceived weakness by a Captain. A serious situation as weakness is a scorned aspect to have im the Commissariat and for the Vostroyans, trembling hands is comsidered one of the most serious signs of it A sign of a coward despite it not truly being the case.

This entire persona that Cadmar has carefully crafted will fall to pieces. His reputation thrown to tatters. The troops will no longer respect him as he will be a laughingstock in the army. A Commissar's reputation is his life and seeing it burn was a fate worse than death to him.

In that short moment of time, Cadmar's mind began racing. Time slowed down as he hastily tried coming up with an idea.

Shooting the Captain with a percieved or trumped up charge came to mind but it was not viable or wise. There were two witnesses next to him and any excuse he makes will be met with disbelief. Worse still is the psyker who could read his mind to seek out the truth.

Captain Ozerov was a man well respected by his peers and is well loved by his men. Even Cadmar has to admit that he has grown fond of the man. Killing him was an immediate death sentence. The troops will turn on him and an 'accident' might occur behind his back during battle. Ending his career short.

Cadmar was out of ideas and he was out of time. Their hands were a mere inch from each other when the Psyker unexpectedly fell on her knees with a loud grunt. Her right hand fidgeted on her staff as she leaned heavily on it while her left hand tore the grass. Root and stem while she mumbled in a foreign tongue.

Psykers were a fickle things. No different from the Warp where they draw their powers from. But the Warp also houses demons. The neverborn. The nightmares that haunt the Imperium's steps and psykers are their doorways from which they can enter our world. Namely through possession.

It was standard procedure to shoot a psyker on sight by its handler if it ever shows a single hint of taint. Whatever that is. And that was what the men thought was happening to Psyker Ludmills. Pvt. Olenov quickly stepped back and aimed his rifle at her head. Captain Ozerov did the same and raised his axe-gun at the ready to strike. Cadmar however simply stared.

For the first time today, the Junior Commissar was caught off guard. Stunned. Wondering if the Emperor had saved him his trivial troubles. And even better, giving him a chance to get rid of another trouble that bothered him today.

"Comrade Commissar! Your order!" Captain Ozerov barked. Obeying to the protocol of the right of killing psykers are reserved only to its overseer and their commands. Or in this case, Cadmar.

Cadmar snapped out from his daze and swiftly took out his Bolt-Pistol. Aimed it at the girl's head.

"Wait!" The Psyker cried with both hands up before the Junior Commissar could pull the trigger. "It has passed. It has passed."

"What has passed, Witch?" Captain Ozerov snarled while keeping his weapon aloft.

"Explain." Cadmar ordered. His Bolt-Pistol's crosshairs never left her head.

"It wa- it was from…the uhm…" the Psyker scrambled for words. The click of the Bolt-Pistol's hammer helped hasten her words. "The enemy! The enemy! They possess…psykers in their ranks. They were…they were scrying. Yes! Scrying us for information and I…and I…and I engaged them. Bu-bu-but they were too much for me to handle. Yes! That was why I collapsed. That was why I collapsed. But it has passed. They have passed."

None of the men lowered their weapons. But Captain Ozerov and his nephew turned to Cadmar. Both of them waited for an answer or a command.

"Scrying, is it?" Cadmar asked suspiciously.

He wasn't sure if she was buying it. The girl's statements were sprinkled with lies. But then again, he could be wrong. A part of him wondered if it was all an act. An act to help him perhaps? Unsure if he believes it. He wonders if it might be. The Emperor DOES work in mysterious ways afterall.

"Yes, sir." The Psyker looked at him as she answered. "I have…felt it. I thought I could help."

"So be it." Cadmar replied after some thought.

Slowly, the Junior Commissar holstered his weapon. A clear sign that all was well and the other two did the same. Cadmar then approached the Psyker where he knelt down next to her. He offered a hand that she accepted and helped lift her by her arm to her feet. She leaned heavily on him while he never took his eyes off of her.

"Did you?" He asked her in a careful whisper.

"Yes." She answered with a small smile.

Cadmar's curious eyes turned to a piercing glare. His brows scowled. His teeth ground itself in a snarl with unbridled rage. So much so that he punched her hard in the face and sent her crashing back to the ground. Dirt stained her regal white and grey robes. The blow dented her silver faceplate and left her with a bleeding nose that had seeped down to her mouth.

The unexpectedness of the Junior Commissar's action surprized even the other two Guardsmen. Neither of them did anything to stop it however. Pvt. Volodya moved to get in between them but was abruptly pulled back by his uncle with a hand and a gesture.

"Your actions are commendable. But it almost earned you a bullet, you stupid girl." Cadmar pointed at her accusingly. "Do that again and there will be no hesitation. I WILL shoot you and have your corpse burned along with the others."

Cadmar spoke to her in a courtly manner. Not once did he raise his voice. Treating the situation and his actions like it was nothing while he menacingly towered over the bleeding Psyker on the ground. But how he was in the inside was something else entirely.

 _Here me Psyker. Get in my head again and I will show you yours spilling on the ground._ Cadmar thought loud with every fiber in his mind to the cowering psyker while it churned a tempest of fury. Furious at how the Psyker violated his thoughts. Disgusted that she peered into his mind with her Warp tainted hands. That his only sanctuary for his secrets and thoughts was invaded and besieged by the lowest of creatures.

"Have I made myself clear?" He asks.

"Yes. Sir." The Psyker nodded quickly.

"Get her up." Cadmar ordered his aide before turning to the Captain whom he wordlessly nodded to. "To glory."

"To victory." Captain Ozerov smiled with a salute. He slung his lasgun over his shoulder and made his way to his Headquarters at a brisque pace.

Pvt. Olenov obeyed and offered the Psyker with a hand. On that she gladly accepted and slowly got herself back on her feet. An act that she bowed to him in thanks.

Cadmar began to make way to the trenches himself when his foot accidentally kicked the Psyker's staff by accident. He looked at it for a second before springing it with his foot. He launched the staff to the air and expertly caught it with his hand mid-flight. Surprising as it was at how heavy it felt between his fingers, it did not trouble him carrying it.

At the same time, Pvt Olenov finished getting the psyker up her feet. An act that the Psyker appreciated as she bowed to him in thanks.

" _Don't mention it._ " Pvt. Olenov said from under his mask as he nodded.

"Are you two done?" Cadmar asked.

"Yes, sir." The two quickly replied as they stood in full attention.

"Psyker Tasilisa." Cadmar presented the staff to her. "You will be needing this."

"Thank you, Commissar." The Psyker bowed low and reclaimed her relic without looking up. A deep show of respect it seemed.

"We have dallied enough here. Our comrades are waiting. We have a world to conquer."

"Yes, sir!" The two said as they parted a way between them for the Junior Commissar to pass at a quickened pace before following him close behind.

The sirens had fallen silent but the enemies rumbling march continued as they occupied the entire valley. Cannons behind them began their barrage as its missiles roared over their heads. Streaking the sky with grey smoke. Explosions erupted from the distance. More and more of them occur every minute.

The Second Battle of Alnus Hill has begun.

Cadmar smiled. He upholstered his Bolt-Pistol and cocked it at the ready. He unsheathed his chainsword and made it rumble with his trembling hand. He then disappeared in the trenches along with his two subordinates.

XXXXXXXX

A/N:

The war you all are pining for comes next and it will be unlike you've ever read here. So stay tuned.

I expect that this chapter's ending will be a source of debate but I'd like to point out that actions such as this, I percieve as normal in the 40k universe. There is more to grimdark than totalitarian governments, high death tolls, and eternal war. Grimdark can also apply to how man treats its fellow man. Especially when it comes to psykers.

I do not condone actions of abuse such as this in real life. Just making a representation of how these character's lives play out in their world.

*Canids are the Imperium's version of Dogs who are sadly thought to be extinct. At least in Terra, that is. Canids are simply their cloned or genetically modified descendants.


	4. The Battle of Alnus Hill (Part 1)

A/N: After a long awaited continuation, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the first Arc of the first part of the first major battle of the series. The Battles of Alnus Hill.

Pardon for the delay. It has been a hectic couple of months with work and family. What little time I could spare, I'll keep to perfecting this art that you all seem to enjoy. And your enjoyment of it helps me push through a little further. So thank you.

 **RamboArminius, DIOS de la Nada** & **GhostScorch -** I am glad that you do and think so! That is what I am aiming for afterall.

 **Hkblarg Et caetera –** If that were to happen, the entire continent of Falmart will die from radioactive exposure before a single Kriegsman would march out the Gate

 **OBSERVER01 –** Junior Commissar Cadmar is not of Krieg. His mentor, Commissar Mors is. I do plan on setting him up with a Kill Team of sorts made up of colorful characters

 **CykaBlyat1917 –** Get out of my head, haha! I have plans for that arc and Olenov and Tasilisa will be a part of it. But I beseech you for patience on how it will turn out.

 **alienvx0 –** thank you. I try to fix up grammar but I seem to miss a few sometimes and it ticks me off whenever I miss any devoted as I am to keeping to the lore or Warhammer and show a more brutal take on war, I will play the plots out as realistic as I can when it comes to character and logic. There wont be any head bashing exterminatus crazed inquisitors but there will be executions but not in any way borderline wasteful.

 **Bernardo Farrol, alienvx0, Evowizard25,** & **Pacer287 –** thank you. I like humanizing the Astra Militarum to more than just soldiers. There is more to them than the uniform. I also aim to show that wars are written by the victors and since that while the war is still happening, you get a glimpse of how barbarically similar the two factions are. In later stages there will be a more political approach to the story. Game of thrones esque as you are right. The Imperium would rather have this world in one piece. But there is a matter of the heresies the Saderans committed. The Imperials, let alone the fanatical Vostroyans, wouldn't let that fly.

They will inevitably face chaos, but it will be unlike what the others have previously written before. Count on that.

 **Scipio-not-Africanus –** LOL. I just liked the name, Volodya. Thank you too.

 **Hydrangea wine –** thank you and your reaction to my Junior Commissar is exactly what I intended. Hate him now as much as you will other characters because that is what they are meant to be. He'll get his character arc as the story progresses soon. I also love making descriptions of characters because I believe that visual cues tell more of a character's personality than 10 paragraphs of exposition.

 **ManwithaPlan113 –** thank you. But Cadmar didn't kill the Guardsman. He shot the ground in front of her to intimidate the rest and to show him their devotion to die for the God Emperor.

 **PotatoGod69** – that shows some merit, but I find that making officers and worthy adepts in Krieg would be as beneficial to the Imperium as it would to receive 20 regiments from Krieg. I find that as supportive than interfering to the Imperial war effort. I also find it a tad more realistic too in Krieg society and fitting for the devoted citizens of Krieg to brainwash its citizens with Imperial Propaganda in Progeniums to better serve and die for the Emperor. And what better Commissars would there be than a Krieg who knows nothing but duty, selflessness and sacrifice. But that's just me.

 **Kirov of the USSR –** Napoleon total War for the win. I love making speeches. And it appears you vaught on the reference. Points to you, comrade!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

21 men dressed in armor, colourful robes, and bright jewels were gathered under a large and magnificent tent of purple and black sheets. Grand ornaments and sharp coloured tapestries filled every corner. Lavish glittering treasures and finely crafted trophies surrounded them with dozens servants catering to every wish.

The grandeur displayed there was to be expected for those of noble rank. Such splendour in that tent could only be reserved for the likes of powerful men. Especially if these men were the 21 Monarchs of the Allied Vassal States.

21 Kings, Dukes, Lords, Counts, Shahs, Chieftains, Warlords, and half a dozen other titles synonymous to being top-dog in their own country. 21 of one of the most powerful, most influential, and wealthiest men in world banded together under one roof. 21 armies from 21 countries mustered into a mighty army that was unseen in the region for many generations. The rarity of it in itself was enough to treat this event with much fanfare.

They sat themselves in identical but finely crafted seats of oaken wood. The massive table in the centre was of polished wooden that shone like a mirror. None bore any likeness to the thrones every monarch had back home but that did not stop them from trying.

The chairs were made unique by its occupants. Each were decorated befitting each monarch's taste and style. Attaching trinkets or pieces of decorum that would display themselves and culture in prideful light. Each eager to one-up each other through a display of their nation's culture and aesthetic. Aesthetics that challenged the other in the terms of their wealth, power, and might.

Most common were textiles stitched with symbols of their kingdoms. Tapestries depicting their historical events, cultures, or traditions. The more barbaric kingdoms ones, like the High King Joramund, simply dumped furs of fearsome animals they have personally slain. The more exotic realms, like the Sea-Master Levassuer, attached bejewelled amulets, odd charms, and other miscellaneous items like whalebones or carved totems on his seats.

There was no head on the round table. No one sitting on top or bottom thus all sat as equals. Sound as it was amongst the monarchs of differing and questionable standings, it would still be foolish not to fall under a single leader who would have the final say.

Without a proper leader, their Alliance would be nothing more than an unruly mob. A worse danger amongst each other than to their enemies. Even Leaders required a Leader to reign over them. A King over all the Kings, albeit temporary. Thus a Grand Marshall of all their armies was required. A Warlord for their massive host.

That responsibility fell to King Duran of the Elbe Kingdom. The very reason why the gatherings and meetings were held in his tent and under his banner. The position of Grand Marshall, though powerful and honorary, was anything but easy to claim. Nor was it in any way cheap.

King Duran earned that victory at a cost. Earning him as much ire from some of the Leaders as the respect he received from the others.

A nominated position. The title of Grand Marshall was the only democratic act practiced by men such as them. A title that allowed one man the final say in all the debates and the power to command the second most powerful fighting force in the continent. It was a position with as much honour as it was dangerous. Not to mention extremely expensive. Bribes, favours, oratory, promises, and threats must be be exchanged for the title.

Not all Kings could possess such gravitas. Not all Dukes possessed all that wealth. Not all Lords and Monarchs were that wise and educated. Only a few of the Leaders in that Grand Alliance possessed all those aspects. King Duran of Elbe was one of them. Like the few noteworthy Leaders, he notched all of those points in the list and more.

His greying hair showed decades of wisdom. His eyepatch and scars showed his grit and astery in the art of war. His valorous reputation for honour and justness proved him trustworthy in the eyes of many. His army and fields of purple banners displayed his wealth and power to all others.

What won him the position however was politics. His position in the Alliance and his relationship with the other Monarchs. The kingdom of Elbe was neither the strongest, weakest, or the richest in this confederation of monarchs. He was a player of the game, but not the one at its helm. Nor was he too insignificant to be considered an audience like the other weaker kingdoms. Most of all, all know him as someone who does not display malicious intent or desired expansion. You could almost say that King Duran was a conservative.

This painted him as the perfect arbitrator between the other factions. A small factor that convinced the rest of the other Leaders of their Alliance to vote for him as the Grand Marshall of their great host. A victory that was received with grand applause.

"Thank you. Thank you, my fellow Monarchs." Grand Marshall Duran said. Raising his had to politely silence the crowd. "The last time we gathered in force. The last time all 21 Monarchs of our Grand Alliance of Kingdoms gathered like this was about 250 years ago, if you recall your histories. The Arctic war."

The other Leaders nodded in agreement. Every man there knew of that war, whether Monarch, servant, and slave alike through tales or songs. All of them owe the foundation of their Alliance and the survival of their kingdoms to that war.

"That war, my brothers, placed us all at a knife's edge. Shaking the very foundations of our country. No, our continent to its core. Borders fell. Countries burned. The Empire was at the brink of collapse. But it was there that our Alliance. This Alliance began from what's left of the kingdoms of our forebears. It was through our ancestor's sacrifice, unshakable will, and by some blessed miracle, they won. Immortalising their names in the histories. Cementing their deeds in songs and memory."

Grand Marshall Duran unsheathed his dagger. Raising it high and proud. Long enough for everyone to bear witness the shimmering waves glistening on the blade before he plunged it deep on the table. He left it there to rattle on its pommel until it fell silent.

"Now it is our turn. History repeats itself once more, my brothers. Once again an enemy marches into our lands. Barbaric out-worlders. Once again the Empire is in the brink of chaos. Once again, the might of our Allied Kingdoms march to war to face this enemy. Only this time, the glory will be ours. And ours alone. The Saderans will take time to reform their armies. So it will only be us on the field. A battlefield that will be won by us. It will be our names in the histories. It will be our deeds that will be cemented in songs and memory. The saviours of Falmart we will be called. Immortalised forever."

Grand Marshall Duran took his grail and rose it high for all to see. Making the entire scene look like an epic fresco painting with him towering over them with his golden grail in hand. His compatriots surrounding him underneath.

"But never in all my years would I have expected, never would I have dreamed, that I be given the honour of being your Grand Marshall of all our armies. This is an honour that I will give my all to fulfill dutifully, skillfully, and wisely. All in the name of our Kingdoms and our Alliance. All in the name of victory."

"To victory!" The other Leaders cried with their own cups and grails.

Together they all drank down its contents. Down to the last drop.

"Now." Grand Marshall Duran began. "We begin our business on how we are conducting this battle."

With a snap of his fingers, the old king summoned his servants to clear out the table of its contents. Another pair of servants brought in a large map and set it on the middle of the table like a tablecloth. A map depicting the surrounding valley they were all. Alnus Hill was printed on the centre.

Tiny figurines were arrayed on the corners of the map. Each bore the banner or the flag of their respected faction. Both in the Allied Kingdoms and out. The black banners represented the forces of the outworlders. All of their pieces were all at the peak of the hill.

"The attack will be opened by the first wave made up of our auxiliaries." King Duran took the representing pieces and placed them at the foot of the hill. "Mercenary bands and Demi-human warbands. Orcs. Goblins. Wolf-men. Bunny Warriors. Ogres. And the other lot."

Grand Marshall Duran pushed the pieces up the hill until it clashed with the out-worlder's forces.

"We march them up and engage the enemy. They will take the brunt of the assault. Test the waters. Deplete their numbers. Blunt their blades. Empty their quivers. Exhaust them by force of numbers. So much so that they could not even raise their arms against the following waves made up of our main forces."

Grand Marshall Duran flicked the out-worlder's figurines one after another until all of them collapsed on the map.

"The casualties sustained by the mercenaries are of no great loss. Win or lose, they will pave the way for a quick and swift victory to our forces without even needing to lose a single man."

"So we are to hand over the battle in its entirety to the likes of them?" King Edwin of Mudwan interrupted. His golden hair snapped like a blaze of fire as he stood up along with his tone. "To dishonourable money grubbers and savage beasts? Where be your pride, King Duran? Has your thirst for glory grown weary?"

"That's **Grand** **Marshall** to you, boy." Duke Ligu of the League Principality spoke to the king like how an elder would chastise a child. "Call him anything else and you will find yourself speaking to deaf ears. Now sit down and let the adults do the talking."

"I shall, but from our _Grand Marshall_. Not you, Duke." King Edwin countered before turning to address everyone in the table. "The world's eyes are upon us today, brothers. The actions that we partake today WILL echo in the histories. WILL be sung in song. WILL be remembered through time. But they wont be of OUR victory. The bards will not call us as heroes or saviours. But as cravens."

King Edwin paused and glared at the eyes of every man on the table. Displaying his ferocity with piercing eyes to all those present.

"Yes, my fellow Kings." He continued. "Cravens! Cowards who sat back and allowed the likes of sellswords and animals defeat an enemy that we ourselves could have defeated ourselves. I for one did not bring my army here, just to sit back and watch as these undeserving low borns take the glory that is rightfully mine. No! I came here to fight a war. And I plan to win it by my own hand. Not from some inhuman mutt. Not behind someone lesser than I or any of my knights!"

"Your statements are noted, King Edwin, but what you call cowardice is strategy and tactics." Grand Marshall Duran responded calmly. Careful not to aggravate the youth anymore than was required. "We do not know our enemy. They are strangers to us. Their weapons and tactics more so. To know the enemy is to defeat the enemy. And I'd rather the sacrifice be from those we can afford to lose than from those we cannot."

This caused a stir amongst the Monarchs. Cutting the table into two as a cold air set itself in their midst and all forms of camaraderie amongst them were snuffed out. Some sided with the Grand Marshall and his reason, but most fell victim to the young Mudwan king's blaring pride and insatiable ego. Drowning out any sense of reason out of the discussion.

"We need not know more than we already do." High King Joramund of the Northern Clans said. "The invaders are no more than in the tens of thousands. I wonder why the Empire even sent our armies in such numbers."

"Because the invaders have already defeated them!" King Auros of the Holy City of Lux. "No easy feat mind you. More so when there are so few of the latter left to tell the tale! This calls our enemy as formidable foes. One we must be wary of facing."

"I find wisdom in the Grand Marshall's plan." King Domeric of Alguna spoke. "To know the enemy is a step closer to beating them. Screen the enemy with our fodder. Weaken them, like he said. Their deaths mean little to us. After all, the life of a citizen is worth 5 mercenaries. Another 5 for a demi-human. Can't say the same for the gold it took to hire them however."

The other monarchs chuckled and whispered jests to each other in response. Pondering the thought of losing all their mercenaries to spare themselves the expense of paying for them. All save for one.

Shahanshah Ardashir of the Aulac Confederacy stood from his seat and quickly silenced the room. The light from the jewels adorned on his bronze scale armor blinded some of the monarchs who fell victim to its rays.

"Is there even any argument to make? Is there even a need to plan an attack?" He asked. "The enemy is so few. And whatever large army they have is waiting on the other side of the Gate. What we have in the field right now is more than enough to take that hill. They will not last an hour against our might. Easily recapturing the Gate. Whatever force they send will be quashed by the might of our armies. One that can quake the earth with our spears and sunder the sun with our arrows. What could hope to stand against our numbers?"

"Numbers do not win a battle." King Auros of Lux countered.

"Ten against two-hundred?" Shahanshah Ardashir barked a laugh. "No man can kill a hundred."

"Heroes can." King Auros said as he patted on his golden helm. A snide mention of his Kingdom's famous Golden Companions of Zufmuut. "And those with Faith."

Within the elites mustered by the Holy City of Lux, the Golden Companions stood at the precipice of their warrior caste. An elite brotherhood in service to the god of light Zufmuut. 300 battle tested champions were blessed by the god to uphold his laws, protect his realm, and serve his prophet who was also their king.

This may awe or silence the Monarchs of the East, but it did little to stem Shahanshah Ardashir. The Shah of all Shahs of the West has little to fear of the Golden Companions or their god. The Holy City is far from the Aulac Confederacy's borders. The god, Zufmuut also has little claim on the West as the sun god Flare has claim to it as his chief domain. Flare being the the nominal god of the sand cities and the nomads of the western deserts.

"We have those too. Temples as well. Hundreds of them." Shahanshah Ardashir grinned. Showing off his jewel encrusted teeth. "All strapped on the backs of elephants. That makes my army holier than yours, is it not?"

With a slap on the table, Shahanshah Ardashir bellowed a hearty laugh that was joined in tandem by the other Leaders. Entertained by the man's wit and humour. Noting and humouring the fact that the man could barely speak the common tongue had taken King Auros'. Leaving the latter utterly speechless.

The chosen King and High Priest of Zufmuut was left seething in his chair. His knuckles crackled like a storm.

"Not that we need 'em. Given what I've seen from what the out-worlders have prepared for us." Sea-Lord Levasseur said while his finger played a somber tune on the rims of his cup. "The bastards haven't raised a single wall or palisade. Not a single tower or keep. Wooden or otherwise. A few stakes and ropes here and there, but nothing our men can't overcome."

"Tis true." Count Grimmauld of Rumanii nodded. "Instead they stuck to digging ditches and setting up shop in 'em. A mob of peasants can easily plow through them. That said, it now falls to ask the most relevant. The question of First Blood."

Grand Marshall Duran sighed. Leaning heavily on his seat. He had expected for this to come and none of it was to his liking. Thus began an endless cycles of heated debates and arguments between all the members of the Alliance. One with no particular end in sight. A surprisingly more than common occurrence in their kind of pedigree than most.

Names and titles from birth and deeds held sway in every kingdom's culture in all corners of the continent. More important than the lives of their own people. As it always had been since the birth of their kingdoms.

The rights of first blood was one such tenet. Otherwise known as the Vanguard. The front most position at the head of the army and the first to clash against the enemy. A station of prestige worth its weight in reputation and gravitas. On paper that is. It was a simple issue, but it was enough to make all the 21 Leaders go after each others throats with wants to claim it for their own.

Monarchs were never meant to live under one roof. Every single one of them wanted to be the top dog in every medium. With egos as large as their country's borders, it was inevitable that they would end up clashing with each other..

Grand Marshall Duran thankfully had the foresight to deny them of their weapons when entering his tent. Something like this was bound to happen but it was a decision he quickly regretted. Ut at least they wont be spilling blood on his carpets.

Words can cut deeper than swords and every monarch had plenty to say in their endless exchanges. Vulgar language and a storm insults went to and fro. No amount of time or method could heal the wounds and definite scars that these men were spouting against each other. Each laying their claim for the right.

King Edwin of Mudwan claimed that the right with the daft reasoning that his army was the noblest and purest breed from his lineage. A claim shared by all his knights. All 20,000 of them.

Duke Ligu of the League Principality's claim was due to his army arriving first in the field. Next to the Elbe Kingdom of course, but he stubbornly persisted with his argument.

King Domeric of Alguna laid claim from owning the largest number of Orks. Threatening the others with bloodlust the mongrels would unleash upon them if they were not given the reigns of the first strike. Greedy as they are for gold, their hunger for battle was more insatiable and would sooner turn their blades against them all if they were not set loose.

Shahanshah Ardashir of the Aulac Confederacy laid claim due to his supposed god heritage. A lineage stemmed from being a bastard son of an unknown god in their culture. The other monarchs were apt to call him the former.

King Auros of Lux laid claim from a supposed vision from the god Zufmuut and his supposed divinity.. Speaking only of riddles that legitimised his actions but ended up contradicting each other the more he spoke.

Sea-Master Levassuer threatened to pillage the other kingdom's coasts with his army of reavers and corsairs unless things went their way. That is to say, he wouldn't do so _after_ this battle.

High King Joramund of the Northern Clans argument was simply being the loudest. Barking a few words before making a sizeable hole in the grand table with his Dane-axe and leaving it there.

The rest of the other Monarchs laid their own claims. Loudly proclaiming it in exaggerated, truthful, or otherwise manner. Laying out threats in a boisterous manner. All save for Count Grimmauld of Rumanii who remained silent on his chair. Lazily stirring the wine in his cup.

The gaunt faced Count slowly stood from his seat and towered over all the men on the table. Standing taller than even the High King Joramund. Though he was by no means as large or as intimidating as the barbarian king, he was by all accounts the most terrifying person in the room. All fell silent under the gaze of his beady unblinking eyes. If only for a moment and that was enough for them to hear his words.

"Remember the 20,000." Count Grimmauld said before drinking down his cup and then sitting down.

A simple phrase, but with a mountain of weight that chilled everyone's spines. Reminding them of Count Grimmauld's cruel history of when one of his vassals rebelled. Opening their borders to barbarians who laid waste to his lands. He of course repelled them despite overwhelming odds and the rebellious vassal openly surrendered soon after. But it was what the Count did next that placed his name in the map.

20,000 rebels and barbarians were scourged and nailed to the trees surrounding the ruins of the rebellious vassal's castle. Some were nailed on the trees along the main road leading out to that fief's borders. They howled and cried the entire time. The wind carrying their pain and horror throughout the County. Made worse when the animals began feasting on their flesh. A grim reminder to his other vassals the cost of disloyalty and how traitors were to be treated.

A crueller fate was reserved for the rebellious vassal. The Count personally chained him to his throne. Forced to hear his people's moans and screams that echoed in the dark corners of his ruined castle. Forced to watch his family, his own children die and rot above him. Forced to be served by deaf stewards who fed him everyday. Until madness finally consumed him.

Till now he could still hear the screams. He could still hear the voices despite the already deafening silence surrounding him.

The same silence that consumed the Allied Vassal's council table that day. The Count's grim reminder was an opportunity that Grand Marshall Duran exploited.

"Three armies will attack the hill. So be it." He said. "King Domeric of Alguna, King Edwin of Mudwan, and Duke Ligu of the League Principality. As I, your Grand Marshall, commands. So it will be obeyed."

Outraged as they were, none of the Monarchs shouted their disagreements. Each abated their anger. Not one raised their voice in outrage. All fell silent as the grave and begrudgingly obeyed. King Duran was still their Grand Marshall. To diobey him would put their honour and position put in the line. It was their only choice and they could do little else about it.

XXXXXXXXX

The 3 armies began their assault on the next hour. Soldiers ran to the muster set under their banners. Amassing into large companies set in columns within the ranks of their respective kingdoms. Each arranging themselves in accordance to their Kingdom's way of waging war.

The army of the League Principality took up the left flank. Their forces formed themselves to something akin to a moving fortress. The sight of which awed and intimidated the other Leaders watching them from the plains. A _tercio._ A walking bastion of men, iron, and steely discipline.

Pike squares of a hundred men each arrayed themselves into a checkerboard formation of a massive hollow square. A forest of a thousand pikes. Large enough to encapsulate the ten thousand great-swordsmen and halberdiers reserved inside.

Crossbowmen were deployed outside surrounding the square. Most took up the front of the formation. Arrayed to shoot down any opponent in well drilled and unending volleys.

Last but not least, the knights and horsemen took up the 4 corners of the square.

Duke Ligu and his noble bodyguard rode in the center of the _tercio._ Commanding from within his moving fortress of steel and men. Proudly displaying the iron discipline of his men to his allies. Proudly displaying the might of his kingdom to his enemies before the first clash.

The Mudwan Kingdom took up the right flank. Thousands of Knights atop of destriers and men-at-arms atop of rounseys make up the entirety of their force. A thunderous army of iron hooves. Soldiers who displayed their own brand of order and discipline in their ranks through the union between horse and rider.

Every step, every trot, every move of every steed and its rider were one and the same. A fearsome rhythmic march akin to a beating drum. To the point that the earth rumbled at their passing. Like a well oiled machine of grand army of a single mind.

That single mind that all followed was of their liege. King Edwin the Lightbringer with his golden crown resting atop his silver steel helm. A crown moulded to the shape of a rising sun. His mighty white horse neighing with its forelegs raised high.

"Ride forth to the end!" He cried his Kingdom's words to the elated cheers of his Knights.

"Ride forth to destiny!" They cried as they raised their lances high.

King Edwin rode at the head of his army with his Paladins riding beside him in the vanguard. Champions of the Noble Orders and Lords of the Great Houses followed close behind in diamond formations with their glowing lances pointed out. Behind them were their vassal lords of the Lesser Houses and noble barons of various Houses. Great and small. Each led at the head of hundreds of their shining knights.

Sworn Knights raised the banner of their liege or their Order at the tips of their lances, but none shared the same suit of armor or display of colour. Great deeds were expected to be done that day and every rider in that field wanted to be recognised for theirs.

The army of the Kingdom of Alguna took up the centre. King Domeric's local forces were not as numerous as his comrades, but that did not make them inferior to the others in any way. Their men-at-arms with long spears and tall board shields were well trained from a young age to fight in a single unit. Fighting in a formidable phalanx formation that could brave a knight's charge. While their infamous long-bowmen fired from behind. Raining steel and accurate shots against those who fall in their sights.

Only few could lay claim to the title of knight in their kingdom, but those who were elevated to the title are all blooded and proven men. Unlike other knightly Orders, the great-sword was their standard weapon instead of the lance. A powerful and expertly forged weapon that is reserved only for their nobility and their chivalry.

Formidable as they are, the true strength of the Alguna kingdom came from their wealth. Wealth that came from the many merchant guilds they have in their pocket. Allowing them to purchase the best and most fearsome of mercenaries to do the fighting for them.

A considerable amount of the kingdom's coffers were spent hiring half a dozen Orkish clans in their thousands as well as a band of a few dozen hulking Ogres. The promise of loot and battle convinced the Warbosses not to fight one another but it did little to stop the individuals from opposite clans from fighting one another. The Ogres on the other hand only cared to be fed. The promise of a hearty meal kept them in check. All in all, they will serve under the banner of Alguna and fight in its vanguard. An unruly mob that was being herded forward to the fight.

Together, all 3 armies marched up the hill with the sun rising alongside them. A favoured omen . Many considered this as a favourite omen. A blessing from the sun god, Flare himself. A blessing that would grant them victory.

Grand Marshall Duran, the other Monarchs and the rest of their main host watched the scene unfold. Assembling just a few leagues or so shy from the foot of the massive hill. The 3 armies of Alguna, Mudwan, and the League Principality were no more the size of ants from where the former stood from.

The soldiers cheered to them with thunderous applause. Their large colourful banners were waved. Swords were clanged against their shields. Pole-arms were stamped onto the ground. Demi-humans roared and howled in fervour. A myriad of tongues sang an orchestra of songs that filled the air of noise as a means of support to their comrades. But even this was a source of competition between the different Kingdoms and cultures.

All that merriment. All those promises. All of it quickly fell silent the moment something from atop Alnus Hill unceremoniously joined their festivities.

The gods have played their hand. But it was not from any gods that they knew. And what was unleashed was nothing like anyone of that world has witnessed in their lifetimes.

A blaring sound erupted from the peak of Alnus Hill. A deafening sound that silenced and sent them all to a state of panic. It was like a chorale screeching banshees shouting en masse. Like a horde of wounded animals crying in pain. Begging to be put out of its misery.

Grand Marshall Duran and his knights struggled to keep their horses in line as the haunting sound spooked them to a panic. The same fell to the other Monarchs on their side of the battlefield. The sound distressed their soldiers and animals. Fearing the great unknown sound that pierced their ears. Morphing their faces in discomfort. Grinding their teeth to dust in frustration.

The demi-humans caught the worst of it. The sharpened sense of sound that they prided and boasted became a terrible curse as their ears caught the brunt of the noise. They fought amongst each other in irritation while desperately attempting to drown out the earsplitting noise with their own. Vainly trying match it with their roars and howls to no avail.

One could only wonder how the forces nearest to the hill were faring. If being so far from the source of the noise was already a source of discomfort, being so close to it might only be compared to torture.

The forces of Mudwan, Alguna, and the League Principality stopped in their tracks. The soldiers quivered in their boots to the horrible sound. Dropping their weapons to free their hands to cup their ears or clog it with dirt in a useless attempt to drown out the noise.

The booming sounds of thunder were added to the noise. Rumbling eruptions that came from Alnus Hill's peak. Ones that shook the ground terribly in its wake.

Order was quickly swept away as the soldiers of all 3 armies fell into disarray. Formations and discipline fell apart as men ran away from what they felt was the apocalypse. Horses ran amuck with their riders holding onto dear life. Wildly Stamping, kicking, butting, and biting anyone who got close or whoever got in their way. Further disrupting the ranks as they stampeded through it. Their riders suffered the most. The howling noise slipped inside their closed helms and banged on their ears as it echoed. All the while struggling to keep their horses in check.

Lords and officers whipped and shouted at the men back to their lines. Keeping them in formation. Maintaining discipline among the ranks at the tips of their whips. All the while suffering themselves from the infernal noise. They forced their troops forward. Pushing them to continue the ascent even if they had to crawl for it. The presence of their own Kings in their midst aided in the strengthening of the men's resolve to continue the assault.

The invaders brought with them their God. One that was nothing like they have ever seen before. To the horror of the Allied Vassal States, He unleashed upon them His power. A storm of fury akin to the what was written on the sacred texts depicting their world's end times.

The soldiers' advance did not get far once the ground bursted open below them in a world shattering boom. Boisterous thunder crashed deep into the earth. Shattering it. Tearing everything apart. Consuming everything in its path in a noxious cloud of smoke. 'Stars' fell from the skies with ear piercing shrieks before colliding to the ground before turning into a magnificent blaze that burned all in its path. Erupting into a magnificent chain of furious explosions that engulfed the entire foot of the hill with black ash and hellish fire.

Hundred were disintegrated on the spot. Wiping every part of their person out of the map in a blink of an eye. Shrapnel tore scores of soldiers apart into ribbons. Easily piercing through their thick armour like they were nothing. Their guts seeping through it like an open tap that spilled on the dirt. Most simply fell dead from the shockwaves that ruptured organs and shattered bones from inside their skin. Painfully dying as blood poured out of every crevice of their body. Painting the hill with their blood.

Many were thrown away with broken bodies. Falling on their comrades like hail. Falling on their brothers like debris from a landslide. Their weight crushed bones and squashed heads when they collided with the others. Some were impaled upon the awaiting spears and pikes of their horrified allies. Torrents of blood splattered on them like rain.

These soldiers watched as the blood drained from their comrades's faces. Bleeding them dry. Turning them milk white as they fell limp. Their faces stuck with horrifying masks. Hollow and haunting as their last moments were spent in utter agony.

This macabre show was one of many that struck the hearts of the few survivors in the battlefield who had the misfortune of witnessing these.

Hundreds burst into flames as gouts of hellfire spewed from beneath their feet. Crimson cloaks of fire embraced the terrified souls before turning them to ash. Others would have the misfortune of having the mercy of a few steps. Living their last moments as a living bonfire of crackling wails as their bodies melted from their bones. As their flesh were cooked inside their armor. Screaming all the while even as their jaws fell from under their cheeks.

Fearsome shapes conjured itself up from the smoke. Ever growing into monstrous images out of the black clouds of ash and embers that enveloped the field. Like terrifying horrors of myth, they fell upon the horror stricken faces of men. Swallowing them whole with their enormous maws. Tearing them apart with their bone shattering roars. Spitting out what was left of their pray for the carrion birds to feast on later.

Commands fell to deaf ears. All forms of order were clearly being ignored. Out of fear, out of confusion, our put of injury and deafness, all fell to confusion and madness. as most were difficult to hear from the chaos. Everything was happening at such a quick pace that it was impossible for anyone to keep track of what was happening. Amidst the confusion, many were simply surprised that they lay dying on the dirt. Bleeding from unknown wounds. Dying from unknown means. Their lives ending at an instant without cause or reason.

What they perceived as the wrath of god was merciless. It did not care for rank, birth, or caste. It was unprejudiced. It was absolute. It was sheer power that held sway to all and all could do little else to obey.

Commanders defied it and commanded their men to commit but these were duly ignored. Their soldiers were made deaf from either fear or bleeding ears.

Champions challenged it and charged forth. Inspiring the broken men to carry on. To follow them as they saw an image of invincibility and hope. Only for the illusion to shatter as they did when the flames or explosions took them.

High lords and noble knights fell sway to it. Routing ahead of their levies. Barging through lines from atop their steeds in their haste to escape. Abandoning their image as the paragons of their race. The very men that the smaller folk strived to be were shown to be no different from them. Mortals of flesh and blood. A sight that the rest of the routing soldiers saw when these lords and knights were mercilessly blown apart on their retreat.

XXXXXXXXXX

King Duran and the other Leaders watched the everything from the valley with bated breaths. Witnessing one nightmarish scene after another. All of it unfolding before their disbelieving eyes even as all of it was still happening in front of them.

Terrified by the enemy's awesome godlike magics that laid waste to the field. Leaving behind nothing but scorched ruin and blasted earth. Horrified by the sight of thousands of their dead that were sprinkled around the bade of the hill in mounds. Strewn up and blasted apart into ribbons that littered every patch of grass.

Throngs of survivors made it back to friendly lines. Though they survived, none left the hill unscathed. They limped or crawled their way to friendly hands. Holding tightly to their bleeding wounds or onto their dismembered limbs as though it was still their own. Others hugged their stomachs selfishly as to keep their organs from spilling out.

Many more would die in their beds on the next hour. Most wound succumb to the pain while some were given mercy with a blade. These souls would die without a smile on their lips but at the very least would be welcomed in the realms of Hardy. Goddess of death. Freed from the pain of the hell they have been in.

The few survivors that remain would be all but shadows of their former selves. Battered, broken, and haunted by what they have witnessed. Even the few champions and heroes, veterans of a hundred battles against a thousand beasts, shared the same dead eyes as all the rest. Forever repeating the same horrid scenes and the most dreaded of nightmares that they will carry to their graves.

The total number for the casualties was difficult to discern. The smoke from the battlefield and the chaos of the route made it near impossible to make a final count. Grand Marshall Duran however knew that it was far too many. He did not want to take part of knowing the truth. It would only pain him more the longer he watched.

He was just about to make his way back to his camp to when something piqued his ears. A faint sound was heard coming from the hill. Insignificant for most, but it was enough to make him turn around

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Beyond the mountains of corpses. Past the pillars of ashen fire. There stood a proud horse neighing defiantly on its two feet. And upon that soot covered stallion was a man with a blade of blinding silver light. There upon was the young King Edwin of Mudwan atop his blood drenched steed.

His armor was chipped and shattered with pieces of steel imbedded itself deep on its plates. His eagle shaped helmet was cracked and brittle. Its feathered crest was set aflame. Its faceplate was blown off and revealed his blood stained face with drops that trickled down his face like tears.

King Edwin exposed himself to the men around him. Revealing to them his face and that he still lives. Sharing with them his wounds that they as well have as well. Wordlessly telling them that he was still in this fight without a sign of fear in his eyes while anger seethed from his grinding teeth.

"RIDE FORTH TO THE END!" His voice cried out. Echoing throughout the entire field while he waved his shining sword aloft for all to see. "RIDE TO DESTINY! CHAAAAAAAARGE!"

The young King said nothing else as he kicked his horse forward to a charge. His sword glowing ever so brightly like a shooting star in the black field. That sword became a beacon for the men lost inside the labyrinth of carnage and smoke. It was as though a spell had casted itself on them. Mere words sparked fire into their hearts that set forth a blaze that could only be quenched by blood. Invigorating them to push forward one more time. Encouraging them to keep fighting else death take them.

The deaf followed the glowing light. The blind followed his booming voice. All rallied to him and saw him as an avatar to the god Emroy. Their god of war. All were quick to follow him for one last charge. Mudwan, Alguna, and League Principality alike.

What few surviving knights who were still on horseback charged behind their king. Whipping their frightened steeds to obey as they pressed onwards. The footmen followed close behind while clamouring loudly with livid battle cries and howls of war. At the same time, they scavenged whatever weapon they could find to replace what they lost during their ascent.

Morale soared but only for a fleeting moment. The reality of their situation returned with a vengeance as more eruptions exploded beneath their feat the further they went up. Their already depleted forces were further thinned at every blast.

Their salvation fell from the lips of what few mages that remained. The robed conjurers of the mystic arts worked as one to cast a powerful spell. Summoning a powerful gale of wind from their fingertips that swept up the hill. Striking the out-worlder's wards from beneath the ground. Setting them off prematurely in a harmless, yet deafening, chain of explosions.

The scorched and blasted earth became the soldier's golden road. A path they could tread on unimpeded. Unmolested. The clouds of dust made for good cover and no sounds of thunder or banshee cries were heard coming from the skies. The dust cloud went both ways however as it blinded them from spotting the wall of razor wires ahead of them until it was too late.

Despite galloping as blind as their riders, the horses sensed the danger and stopped in their tracks. Riders were foolishly thrown and fell prey to the barbed steel's deadly embrace. Some horses fell along with them after being pushed by the other from behind. The panic that ensued only made the razor wires coil around their victims even tighter. Swords could not cut through them. Uncoiling it by hand only brought more misfortune to the hand.

Trapped in a coffin of razors, the knights could only lie down and suffer. Bleeding out from their gaping wounds. Crushed beneath the weight of steel cleated boots and iron hooves of their comrades in their haste to break through the living wall. Stampeding over them for the sake of their advance.

King Edwin almost fell prey to this as well. The wires caught his steed's hoof. Its blades were sawing itself into the horse's front limb. The young king avoided the same gruelling fate as the other knights by holding tight to his reins and swiping the razor wires with his sword. The enchanted blade easily sliced through the steel. Creating an opening that was wide enough for the rest of his soldiers to pass through.

At the sound of a horn, they charged forth once more. Carefully sticking to the scorched and blasted path. King Edwin galloped at the very helm of his troops. Riding faster until he spotted the first glimpse of his enemies on the horizon. A short few furlongs away.

They were a curious sort from his eyes. Warriors dressed in crimson with tall black hats that were partly hidden in a long ditch. Strange creatures these outworlders were. Creatures he could only describe as nothing short than demons. The sight of them fuelled him with anger. Seething fury and relief. Relieved that he finally had the chance to meet his enemy. Relieved that at last he could live to avenge the thousands of his fallen.

"The out-worlders!" King Edwin cried out to his men behind him. "The out-worlders be there! Ride forth! Ride strong! Ri—"

The speech was cut short when the young king felt something strike on his chest. It felt oddly hot. As though a glowing hot iron was piercing him. Looking down he found a massive hole on his left breast. At least what was left of it. A hole that was as wide as his open palm.

A beam of red light crossed his eye and struck his right arm. His elbow exploded it a shower of gore as his hand grasping his sword flew off. Its silver light fading like an ember as it fell.

More of those red beams of light flew past him in an endless stream. It burned through his shield like paper. It struck the side of his face and winced as he heard it sizzle from the heat. Smelling his scorched flesh as the scent passed under his nose.

A few struck his noble steed. Tearing off its legs and decapitating it below the neck. King Edwin ghoulishly looked at his horse in the eye as its head flew over him. The fear it expressed was clear. What was left of the horse quickly collapsed. Sending the its rider tumbling on the ground along with it.

King Edwin had never felt so tired and rested easily on the fresh grass. His armor felt heavy. Blood was seeping from his mouth. His heart was faint but he was not dead. He longed for sleep but forced himself awake. His will to fight remained. Adamant to fight on to his last breath.

Limbless as he was, he forced himself forward. Amidst the pain. Amidst his blood. He pushed on. The barrage of light flew over him. He did not need to see it to know their fates as he knows that they were being relentlessly cut down. He had their dying cries compensate for that and it broke him the very moment it stopped.

It was then that he recalled his age and began to cry. His tears mixed with the blood as both trickled down his cheeks. He curled himself as he laid dying. Hugging himself from the cold. Weeping the entire time. Quietly sobbing in between ragged breaths.

"Mother…" he whispered his last amidst his tears before finally falling asleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Monarchs of the Allied Vassals gathered once more under Grand Marshall Duran's tent. The air in the room was a stark contrast to what it was hours ago. 3 seats lay empty and the remaining 18 monarchs were still shaken from what they have just witnessed. Grand Marshall Duran was no exception.

It was the very massacre that Duran wanted to avoid. He could have blamed everyone in the council. Blaming them for falling prey to pride than to reason. To egos instead of logic. Blinded by bravado and fallen deaf to sense. But then he would have been lying to himself. He was the Grand Marshall of this host. The most powerful man of the Alliance, yet he was not strong enough to dissuade the other leaders of their foolishness.

Never had his crown felt so heavy. Never had he felt so burdened by his rank of Grand Marshall. He was meant to lead their armies to victory. A supposed easy victory that they foolishly believed. A belief that he shared himself. But that shattered before their very eyes. In front of all their eyes. Just like what was left of the three armies they sent up that hill.

Despair struck them like a plague. The symptoms were clear in their faces. Grand Marshall Duran was no exception. But it was a sight that he cannot afford the others to see. A persona he must not let the others know unless he wanted to end the battle in disgrace.

It was a terrible omen for a leader to despair alongside his men as it would always lead to defeat. This was a fate that Duran cannot afford. A destiny that will etch his name in mud. To be known as the Grand Marshall who lost the war. A fate that Duran would rather die to stand against than to allow that.

"So. Gentlemen." Grand Marshall addressed. "You care to listen now?"

Every man on the table looked at him. The Grand Marshall did not wait for a reply nor did he allow any of them to talk. He took his dagger that imbedded itself on the table and began arranging the figures on the map to his design.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: A glimpse to the other battles to come. A taste of the horrors of war from the eyes of the people fighting in it.

Please feel write down your reviews. I am more than happy to receive your comments and entertain any questions you may have.


	5. The Battle of Alnus Hill (Part 2)

A/N: Part 2 of the Battle of Alnus Arc is here! For War! For Glory! For the Emperor!

 **TheOnlyKing:** love finding a fan who loves my work. More will come soon. I have more stories about that to tell

 **Lord-of-Change:** Glad you love it and more is to come soon. A big fan of your work by the way

 **WREN-PL:** i'm updating now. Hahaha!

 **Rust:** Don't let that stop you. Do it. I'd love to read what you have

Other replies will come soon. I finished this while I was on work so I didn't have time to answer all of your questions or react to your reviews.

 **UPDATE**

 **Guest:  
\- Regarding the planet the Saderans attacked & its PDF: **There are hints in the 1st Chapter that the planet on the other side of the Gate is a Holy Shrine World. An unnamed one for the time being. The PDFs were also slightly described but I'll confirm will take the form of a Militaristic Order of Warrior Priests akin to Redemptionists. **  
\- Regarding Pina & Cadmar ship: **An interesting take I _might_ consider adding. But be warned, it might not end well for either of them. **  
\- Regarding Character Ages:** I didnt put much thought into this at first but find it fun after a thought. I'll only mention the main characters and the ones who are already introduced as to avoid spoilers.  
Junior Commissar Cadmar - 27 Terran Years old (TYO)  
Private Volodya Olenov - 17 TYO  
Sanctioned Psyker Ludmilla - 25 TYO  
2nd Lieutenant Semyon Rostislav - 36 TYO  
Colonel Lexandr Suvorov - 62 TYO  
Major Filipov Ordenski - 56 TYO  
Commissar Mors - 39 TYO

 **Sarin555:** An extra-universal Vermintide? Interesting and something you gotta write. I'll look forward to that and its okay if it takes time. It took me a couple of months to write this cuz of my tight schedule. Just as long as you want to do it, do it.

 **Bruce USSR:** I prefer making the timeline of this story as indefinite. A galaxy is a big place and I prefer making the stories and locations as far away as to the main source material and familiar places as possible.

 **ManwithaPlan113:** I have to assure that this is still the 40k, right. So 'Ork' terms will stay. Glad you like it and just you wait, the fun has yet begun so stay tuned.

 **Coment9:** Knowledge of Chaos is strictly censored in the Imperium's codexes but Officers like the Colonel and the Commissariat are a tad more privy to the knowledge of their existence compared to the regular Guardsmen. The latter mostly only know them as myth and superstition.

 **KnightofZaku -** With the existence of gods in Falmart, the presence of the God-Emperor will be felt. It wont be a clash of titanic gods but one of faith and religion. The God-Emperor will NOT appear but his power will be felt in the Feudal world.  
Your Primarchs will not make a cameo I'm afraid. The galaxy is a big place and I prefer making the stories and locations as far away as to the main source material and familiar places as possible.

 **CykaBlyat1917-** Religion will play a big part here. Especially if theres a Shrine World just outside the Gate. The Crusade in Falmart will not only be dictated by battles and blood but also of Faith, Zeal, and Religions. The latter being a bigger challenge for both parties.  
It wont be a spoiler but Lelei and her master will have a big part to play in the story so stay tuned for the next one.

 **Aquaticmammals: "** Their god" is just a metaphor. But His presence will be felt in the Feudal World.

 **TheOnlyKing, Hogar66, RamboArminius, Janne Rolfe Jalandoni, Santiago.M.G.:** An honor it is to write this for such avid readers and thank you for your reviews of love, admiration, and praise. More will come soon and it will be better than before.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The monstrous array of Basilisk Cannons spouted their final salvo. Black steam spouted from their red hot mouths. The barrage of screeching rocket batteries of the Manticores ceased their last wail. The piercing volleys of crackling Lasguns played their final tune. All of them ceasing their horrifying sounds once it became apparent that there was nothing left standing in their wake.

The miles of once luscious green fields became a blasted ruin in an instant. Transformed into bottomless crevices and gaping craters. Every inch was charred. Every blade of grass were burnt to ash. Not a single stone was left unturned nor a single pebble went untouched. Not a mound of dirt went unmolested as they were scattered by the forceful gales.

The only ones left standing were the smoke that drifted slowly with the breeze. Hundreds of giant black pillars of ash spouted from the earth in the hundreds. Clawing their way to the sky with their ever growing tendrils. Intent with blotting out the sun. Bleeding the radiant light red as it choked it with their suffocating grasps. Snuffing out every semblance of warmth while shrouding everything in shadows.

All was dead on the ashes of No Man's Land. All was quiet on the southern front. Until a voice broke out from Alnus Hill.

" _ **Victory!"**_ Captain Ozerov shouted. His Lasgun raised high.

" _ **VICTORY! VICTORY FOR THE GOD-EMPEROR!",**_ The Guardsmen cried in jubilation. _**"FOR VOSTROYA! URAAA!"**_

Victory was made sweeter when it was shouted from their lips. Every soul along the narrow cold confines of the trenches were ecstatic in the battle's decisive aftermath. Lasguns were raised high amidst revelling cries. A few Guardsmen dared to fire blindly in the air in celebration. _Paphaka_ hats were waved aloft like flags or thrown in the air in celebration.

Others were more composed and instead held tightly on their prized baubles, small signets, or golden rings. Trinkets that all bore the sigil of the Emperor's Aquila. Held close to their lips, they whispered to it with a kiss. Clasped tightly between their fingers, they hummed a hymn of devotion. Whatever the ritual practiced or language used was, the message was the same. They all prayed in thanks to the God Emperor for His Protection and for their actions be in accordance to His most Holy Will.

On the frontmost line in one of the trench's Saps*, a few heads taller than the the throngs of Guardsmen filling the zigzagged channels of concrete and dirt, were 4 individuals. Each unique and unlike from each other in every way.

Ripping off his rebreather, Pvt. Volodya Olenov cheered louder but by no means prouder than his comrades. Succumbing go the same ecstasy as his brother in arms, the young Vostroyan revelled. Letting loose loud shrill whistles until his cheeks turned blue.

Behind them was the Psyker, Ludmilla. She stood few paces behind the group, she melded in the corner and ignored by everyone else. Whether intentional or otherwise, she did not mind as it gave her some freedom to do what she willed. And so she etched a smile on her chapped lips. One that was easy to hide under the folds of her white hood. Even someone like her was allowed to savour a taste of victory. She must show her loyalty at every moment. But to what degree is still up to speculation.

Especially when she stood under the passing shadow of a man she most openly dreaded.

Junior Commissar Cadmar stood above the parapets. Standing tall with his chin raised high and his hands clasped tightly behind his back while the rest of him was kept in crisp attention. Creating an image of someone standing tall above everyone else. Displaying an air of noble poise and utter conviction as befitting his rank as a Commissar. A Junior Commissar he may be to be exact, but a Commissar nonetheless.

Contrary to their hectic revelries, Cadmar was starkly more restrained. Reserving his actions to a simple satisfied small wry smile on the side of his mouth. His hidden eyes under his black cap scoured the blasted fields whilst passing a short glance at his own Guardsmen at the corner of his eyes.

2nd Lt. Semyon Rostislav, the Company's Standard Bearer, kicked everything up a notch. The proud white maned man stepped foot out of the trench at a single bound. Fearlessly exposing himself in the open and to the looming enemy threats with nothing more than his bare-chested machismo and near fanaticism protecting him.

The Standard he carried, the Company's Crimson Flag, was proudly waving above everyone's heads. A lone red figure upon a field of smouldering black and blasted brown. A sight easily seen for miles on out. All the way to the enemy camps behind the river.

To the curious eyes of his enemies and to the awe of his comrades, 2nd Lt. Rostislav displayed his bravery, patriotism, and talent. The latter being his singing ability as he began an old from Vostroya.

" _Legiony Predateley, Chernaya Horus!  
_ _Oni snova napadayut na Zolotoy Tron,  
_ _No ot Svyatoy Terry do Vostroi!  
_ _Pervenets Vostroya - samyy sil'nyy!"_

Nearby Guardsmen ceased their wild revelry to listen to the 2nd Lieutenant's song. The words of which invoked them with a flurry of emotions that emboldened them with strength and pride. Even went as far as to shed happy tears at the memory of their homes. Reminded of their purpose and what they all were fighting for.

That tiny spark set a flame in the hearts of every Vostroyan there. Spreading it until it engulfed the entire Company. One that every soul sang with great enthusiasm as the song arrived to the chorus.

" _ **Pust' pervenets Vostroya  
**_ _ **Zaryadka vpered. vpered!  
**_ _ **Shtyki s zakalennymi rukami  
**_ _ **i my vse dolzhny  
**_ _ **Neostanavlivayemyy stenami  
**_ _ **Idi srazhaysya do smerti!"**_

" _ **Pervenets marsh, marsh vpered!  
**_ _ **Imperator zovet nas k bitve!  
**_ _ **ot Glaza do Vostochnoy Okrainy  
**_ _ **Krasnaya Armiya samaya sil'naya!"**_

The entire stronghold took notice and listened to the song. Its denizens heard it not from any Vox network or from any Laud Hailer. But from what the wind carried as the faint words of the song were brought to their more than eager ears. Their minds were quick to hear its tunes alongside the words that was heard from far away.

From the other Companies in the other trenches, to the pilots and crews emerging from their vehicles, to the Battalions on the other fronts, to the Tech-Priests inside their Workshops, and to even the Colonel's ears and his staff in their Command Centre at Alnus Hill's peak.

Every Guardsman, Adept, and Staff in the Regiment, every son and daughter Native to Vostroya. None was spared from its spell as they joined to sing with the rest of their comrades.

" _ **Pust' pervenets Vostroya  
**_ _ **Zaryadka vpered. Vpered!  
**_ _ **Shtyki s zakalennymi rukami  
**_ _ **i my vse dolzhny  
**_ _ **Neostanavlivayemyy stenami  
**_ _ **Idi srazhaysya do smerti!"**_

" _ **Svyashchennyye yazyki plameni i ognya  
**_ _ **My unichtozhili demonov i nevernykh  
**_ _ **Ot osnovy do Svyatoy Terry  
**_ _ **Vostroya samaya sil'naya! VOSTROYA SAMAYA SIL'NAYA!"**_

The song ended with thunderous applause. Shrill whistles and hooting howls pierced the air as thousands of voices rejoiced. Celebrations that were heard crossing over the blasted No Man's Land, to the barren miles of trampled earth, and to the jealous ears watching across the river.

Onlookers of the Feudals seethed in anger at their enemy's merriment whilst they licked on their own wounds. Eyes that glared at the smoke pocked hill where a single crimson flag waved defiant. A clear bright symbol that mocked them and their failures. A symbol that challenged them to face them once more. Daring them to try again. Intentions that Semyon Rostislav was more than happy to display to the world and his faceless enemies.

"2nd Lieutenant Rostislav!" A voice called out from below the trenches. "A word, of you will?"

"Comrade-Junior Commissar!" 2nd Lt. Semyon exclaimed to the black clad officer gleefully before jumping back into the trench.

He dropped in as straight as a stiff board but his landing was as firm as an acrobat. Not missing a single step as he fell perfectly in front of the Junior Commissar. The large flag he carried bore no burden and was kept aloft in the air. Its form was as perfect as a ceremony.

The copper skinned man topped all it off with a crisp salute with a chin pointed high.

"Reporting for duty, sir!" Semyon dutifully said. "If this is about my actions, I tell you with respect that I have no regrets. But I am prepared to receive any punishment in order."

"Nonsense, 2nd Lieutenant." Cadmar assured with a wave of his hand. "Your actions was never a subject of issue. But it is the topic at hand."

"And what is it a topic of? Comrade-Commissar?"

"My complements to your performance. It was a very awe inspiring display as it was entertaining and have done more for the troops than what any of my words could provide."

"HAHAHA!" Semyon boomed with laughter. "You are too kind, Comrade-Commissar. Too kind."

"Never known myself to be one, 2nd Lieutenant." Cadmar snidely remarked. "But an honest man, I am sure. Now that song. Tell me about it."

"It is an old song, Comrade-Commissar." Semyon explained proudly and with much enthusiasm. "Very old. Going as far back as the dawn of this Age of the Imperium. After our victory over the Arch-Traitor Horus and his heinous Heresy."

Semyon spat at the very mention of the name. Cleansing his mouth from the name that tasted like poison to him.

"It is our hymn commemorating our dedication to the God-Emperor. To our service to Holy Terra. And to our pride as Vostroyans. And how we, the Red Army of First Borns are the Strongest!"

"Impressive." Cadmar nodded. "And with a powerful message to boot. This goes to show that my abilities with your language still require thorough polishing."

"You speak Vostroyan, Sir?" Semyon asked in surprise.

"It pays to know who you are fighting." Cadmar responded with nonchalance. "** _No luchshe znat' svoikh tovarishchey._ "

"Bravo, Comrade-Commissar!" Semyon applauded. "Bravo!"

"I appreciate that, 2nd Lieutenant. At least I know now that I have yet to butcher your language."

"Not at all. No fret, sir." Semyon patted the Junior Commissar heavily on the back. "There will always be blood when outsiders dare to speak our native tongue. Haha!"

"I wouldn't say that, 2nd Lieutenant." Cadmar coughed a mild groan. "Points from other languages helped ease the needle. Valhallan, helped the most."

"It is my turn to be impressed now, Comrade-Commissar." Rostislav patted the officer once more on the shoulder. "You are a linguist now, yes?"

"A hobby." Cadmar shrugged. "We are an Empire of a Million Worlds, 2nd Lieutenant. Faith unites us but Low Gothic could only go so far in everyone's lips. Many still cling to their…traditions. The proud ones especially. I aim to remedy that gap and I'm slowly getting better at it."

"You honor me and all of Vostroya for your efforts, Comrade-Commissar." Semyon said with a salute.

"Now it is your turn to humor me, 2nd Lieutenant. While we're at the topic, There is a line in your song that I couldn't help but notice. And it bothers me. Profusely."

"Sir?" Semyon asked with a raised brow.

" _Imperator zovet nas k bitve."_ Cadmar slowly recalled with great care. _"_ In Low-Gothic would have it, 'the Emperor calls us to battle'. Am I correct? _"_

"That you are, Comrade-Commissar."

"Yes. 'The Emperor calls us to battle'." Cadmar repeated. "By battle, the song refers to the Siege of Terra. No?"

"It is. Comrade-Commissar." Semyon begsn sensing a cold chil crawl up his spine.

"'The Emperor calls us to battle'" Cadmar repeated thoughtfully with a hint of menacing calm. "But here's the thing, 2nd Lieutenant. The Emperor called for you. But Vostroya **did not answer**."

Cadmar stressed the gravity those last words with accusation and it struck the words out of Semyon's mouth. For the first time in this campaign and since first meeting the Junior Commissar, Semyon was at the loss of words. He had shown weakness. His cheerful tone was struck off as his jolly smile sunk deep inside his beard.

"As far as I know at least." Cadmar continued. "Then again, Imperial History has never been my strongest subject. I could be wrong though. What you say about that, 2nd Lieutenant? Am I wrong?"

There was an air of ignorance in the way Cadmar spoke those last words. Words that one could easily tell was far from being true. Everyone in the Imperium, the least of which the Commissariat knows of Vostroya's dark past. It was impossible for them or anyone not to know of their heinous crime as well as the origins of the Firstborns. But that was far from the point from where Semyon was standing in.

"Yes, sir. I-I mean, no sir." Semyon replied quickly. Sputtering for words. "Not at all, sir."

"It was a good song, 2nd Lieutenant Rostislav." Cadmar patted the man's shoulder. "And I like what I heard."

Cadmar paused to light himself a Lho-stick filled with tabac.

"What I don't like however." Cadmar continued while pocketing his igniter. "Are its lies. I despise anything that alters their rightful histories. The least of which of their Regimental History's origins."

"But sir. If I may." Semyon started.

"No, 2nd Lieutenant. You may not." Cadmar shot back sternly but without raising a tone. "Lies that defy what is prescribed by the Codex Historia Imperialis is a grave offense. It is a wonder why the Commissariat hasn't picked up on this yet."

Cadmar left the conversation on a standstill again to savour the tabac laced stick of poison. Leaving Semyon to suffer from the man's silence with a thousand worries of panic besieging his mind. As well as astound him on how the man could make something grave so trivial.

Long twisted streams of smoke akin to serpents were dispelled from his lips. Curious sinister shapes that were almost no different from the man himself. Along with the words that came out from his mouth.

"Then again, this might be more trouble than it is worth." Cadmar sighed before grinning from ear to ear. "Can you imagine the Commissariat confining a Regiment. No. A world? Over a line from a song. Ha! There are no other Regiment like you, believe me. It'd be a loss to lose you."

The joke was not privy to Semyon. So the man opted to stay silent despite being absolutely dumbfounded.

"I've lost you, didn't I" Cadmar took notice. "That isnt important. Just know that I've decided to let this one slide. For your sakes as it is mine."

"Your sake, sir?" Semyon asked.

"Paperwork, 2nd Lieutenant Rostislav." Cadmar shrugged. "Emperor forsaken mountains of paperwork if I pull that stunt off. I'd rather lead a Penal Corps than suffer that. Let's just leave it at that. That clear, enough?"

"Ha!"Semyon barked with a reclaimed smile. "Crystal clear! Comrade-Commissar!"

"Welcome back, 2nd Lt. Rostislav." Cadmar smiled. "But before I dismiss you, bring up what we talked about to your superiors. The next one might not be so…understanding. And I'd hate the Inquisition pay your planet a visit over this."

"Sir! Yes, sir!" Semyon saluted. "You can count on me, Comrade-Commissar. And they will listen."

"With spirit like that, I do not doubt they'll be forced to." Cadmar returned the salute with his own. "Dismissed."

XXXXXXXXX

Pvt. Volodya heard nothing of the 2nd Lieutenant and the Junior Commissar's exchange. His Vox-Caster radio sputtered static in its frequency before he could hear or intrude on the latter's conversation. Duty comes first above all else in a Guardsman's line of work. Volodya did his amd received the incoming message.

The device bore the voice of the Company's CO and his uncle, Captain Ozerov. Unlike his previous display of jolliness, the man lacked pleasantries to his announcement. Commands that were sent to secure channels in the hands of Vox-men like Volodya. Commands that Volodya quickly relayed to his superior the moment it was given. .

"Junior Commissar! Orders from the Captain," Volodya reported with a crisp salute.

Despite its urgency, he paused until the man paid him heed. The black clad Officer thankfully gave it with a wordless nod. His conversation with the 2nd Lieutenant had just concluded.

"Command reports the enemy moving out from every camp." Volodya summarised. "Augur scans spotted them deploying around the hill's perimeter en masse."

"The enemy already makes their intentions clear from where I'm standing, Guardsman." Cadmar said. Utterly unperturbed from the news. "They mention anything on what we are up against, Guardsman?"

"It is as you said, sir. What you've predicted. The bulk of the enemy forces is poised this way. Towards us. Tens of thousands of infantry. Human and xeno alike. Thousands of heavy cavalry. Equine and otherwise. As well as a dozen artillery pieces. Primitive stone and dart throwers. HQ also spotted the enemy psykers by the vanguard."

The two men watched as shapeless figure appeared once more on the horizon. Like a great black mass, these great hosts consumed everything in its wake with a hundred tendrils made up of their near limitless numbers.

Thousands of banners heralded their march. Hundreds of thousands of metal clad men with their weapons, savage beasts, and machines of war grounded the luscious grasslands to spent dirt. The passing west winds churned thick clouds of dust as the earth shuddered from their footsteps. Masking their approach but the sparkles and shine of their steel betrayed them.

Majestic feathered steeds to the monstrous scaled horrors, wonders the Vostroyans have never seen, dominated the skies. Hundreds of winged beasts blotted the sun with their monstrous wings. Their riders cried defiantly with their steeds' roars. Raising their blades and bows high. Ready to rain down steel and wild magics down the ranks. Both man and beast swore vengeance and blood.

All of it made for an awesome and fearsome sight. Almost as though the entire world has declared war on the Imperium. Volodya couldn't help himself but agree at this army's magnanimity, much to his own dismay. Lamenting at the stark fact that such a beautiful sight would end up as a wretched ruin the moment these barbarians bare their fangs against them.

"And what does the Captain have in mind to remedy this, Guardsman?" Cadmar asked. Unmoved and indifferent to the foes stacking against them.

"Mines, sir. Hundreds are to be scattered along the 200th yard line." Volodya motioned to the field. "Munition-Servitors are also activated and deployed to our lines. Captain's orders are that all Guardsmen to double their ammo. The same goes for the Heavy Weapons teams and their ordinance."

Booming cannon shots were then heard from behind their lines. The Guardsmen and the Junior Commissar did not react to these however. Nor did they mistake it for anything hostile. Those guns were known to them and instead led their eyes pointing towards the sky. Watching as hundreds of white streaks of smoke course miles above their heads.

These airborne shells exploded midair into a splattered cloud. Each with over a dozen tendrils that spewed landmines. Sowing them into the blasted land with a hollow thud. Whether it was by the ingenious calculations of the Mechanicus or by random, the mines were arranged in a crooked line along the perimeter. Decorating the dull blasted land with a field of blinking lights.

The Servitors's arrival were heralded by the macabre machines melded onto their leathery greying flesh. The unsettling clicks of their many exposed gears, the chilling hums of hydraulics on their limbs, and the faint hair raising crackles of electrical wires coursing through their veins made their already grotesque bodily features even more demented.

Their shambling gait and their foul wheezing breaths warranted an unwanted sight. But the wealth of supplies they burdened gave these creatures a cold welcome in the ranks. Ammunition belts of all shapes and sizes were coiled around them like drapes. Stores of Magazines and Power-packs were strapped thick onto their webbings. Bushels of grenades of all shapes and sizes were fastened on them like ornaments.

Volodya stopped one of the dim-witted cyborgs with a rough hand. The Servitor obeyed as it should and allowed the young Guardsman to grope it for supplies. Ripping them off from the gangly drone's webbings and pushing it away harshly that it stumbled and fell face first on the ground.

The other Guardsmen nearby did not offer the Servitor a helping hand or any offer for aid. Instead they laughed gleefully at the sight. One of them even went so far as to kick it down once more as the creature picked itself up to its feet.

Outsiders would find these acts vilifying. The ignorant would feel sorry. But to Imperials like the Vostroyans, cruelties like these are well accepted in their society. Sometimes even enforced since abuse was deserved by these dregs. A form of additional penance for a Servitor's low-life existence. Life that was borrowed from the God-Emperor's good graces. A life that many consider to be undeserving and thus treated with disdain.

Not a hint of regret or reflection coursed in Volodya's mind. No different from the rest of his kind. It was long embedded in his culture. His attention was instead aimed towards his duties and his tasks at hand.

"Comrade-Commissar" Volodya handed the officer a pair of extra Bolter magazines.

The Junior Commissar however paid him no heed and instead spoke to the vox-caster radio on his ear.

"Lieutenant Vukosav." Cadmar ordered in a business like manner. "Send your platoon out. Clear that refuse."

The Junior Commissar motioned to the bodies scattered around the yards in front of their trenches. Corpses that piled upon each other on massive stacks or were entangled on the barbed-wires scattered before the trenches.

"Our troops need to shoot straight and they cant do that with those on the way." Cadmar continued. "Do it thoroughly and do it fast. Kick it. Toss it. I don't care. Just make sure that the enemy cant use those as cover. Over and out."

"2nd Platoon! On me!" Lt. Zosef Vukosav from down the trenches was heard bellowing to his Guardsmen. "Move out!"

At the sound of his whistle, over 70 or so of the red clad Vostroyans emerged from out of the trench and into the open. Lt. Vukosav lead at their helm and scattered his troops all over No Man's Land. Every single Guardsman were moved quick to begin their task earnestly and with haste.

Pairs tossed corpses by its arms and legs down the ridge. Others dragged them down by their limbs. Mounds were kicked down and sent them tumbling down the hill by the dozens. Piling the putrid corpses below the hill's slopes. An advantage that would later aid in hindering the enemy on their ascent. The ones stuck on the mesh of barbed wires were blasted apart with lasguns. Easing the arduous task of peeling them off and tossed aside.

Survivors were hunted down and mercilessly bayonetted. Their blood soaked tears and pitiful cries for clemency were coldly ignored as 20 inches of equally cold steel pierced their still beating hearts. Snuffing out lives as the dead gasped their last. A handful proved more defiant and more stubborn.

Rather than waiting for their death, some desperate souls decided that they would not enter the realm of Hardy alone. They ambushed the passing patrols from among the piles of corpses. Striking their legs or hips with drawn blades or claws. Leaping for their throats or chests with bared fangs or clubbed fists. Brave acts but nevertheless were still foolish and vain.

Faith was not the Guardsmen's shield from these sudden attacks. Flak body armour and Carapace Armour breastplates shunned any steel or bone that dare pierce it. Leaving enemy fang, teeth, and blades blunted, shattered, or broken. Unscathed and mildly shocked from the surprise, the Guardsmen recovered faster than their equally stunned and shocked would-be assassins. In a course of swift and brutal countermoves, the former successfully incapacitated or kill the latter with a series of moves that ended with either a bloodied blade or a smoking barrel.

Others never made it close as they were quickly and easily shot or struck down by their supposed victim's nearby comrades. Before any of these foes could recover, a pair of blades already pinned him or half a dozen shots struck him. Even as they lay dead, the Vostroyans continued shooting these corpses until they were indistinguishable charred chunks of scorched meat. Ones that were spat on or kicked with dust before leaving for the next spot.

Engrossed by 2nd Platoon's activities, Volodya did not notice the Junior Commissar taking the Bolter magazines from his hand. These spares were pocketed under the folds of his black greatcoat.

"You any good with that, Guardsman?" Cadmar suddenly asked while motioning to the boy's Lasgun while preoccupying himself with checking the bullets of his Bolter-Pistol.

"Oh yes, sir. Comrade-Commissar." Volodya proudly tapped on the weapon on his arms. "Top-marks in Vostroya. And among the Top-Ten sharpshooters in the whole Regiment. All thanks in part to this Lasgun."

"You don't say?" Cadmar said. Pausing to fit the last bullet in its chamber and finishing it off by loudly cocking his weapon. "That would put you in good terms in the sniper division. Yet here you are."

"I am humbled by your praise, Comrade-Commissar, but snipers barely make it far up the ladder."

"A career man then? How _ambitious_ of you."

It shocked Volodya at how callous the man could openly smear him. His hands were gripping tightly as they balled into fists. He pursed his lips at the insult but bit his tongue. Angered as he was, he knew better than speak out against a Commissar. The cost was too great and Volodya had no intention of paying it any time soon. No spur of pride was worth such a drastic action.

Or perhaps that was the point, the thought provoked him. That the man intended to test him of his integrity and his merit. It was too soon and too difficult to tell. The man was a stranger to him thus far. Both in planet and in culture. The best thing Volodya could do now might be was to be transparent.

"I dream to rise the ranks of command, Comrade-Commissar. All the way to a Colonelship or more, with the Emperor Willing." Volodya proudly stated. "Is that so wrong? Is that not what the Emperor desires for us all?"

Volodya bit his tongue after saying those last lines. His eyes widened at realizing his mistake of being TOO transparent. Who was he to question the God-Emperor's Will? And to a Commissar no less?!

The supposed slight was enough to make Junior Commissar turn to Volodya once more. Towering above him once more like a dark spectre with cold piercing eyes. The man gave a curt smile. Its intentions a mystery. But instead of a reprimand, a court martial, or a last rite, instead a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

"Wouldn't that be a sight to see?" Cadmar said with sincerity before returning his gaze over the trench. "How I'd love to see that play out."

"And what dreams do you have for yourself, sir?" Volodya found himself asking sharply. The words and intentions carelessly slipped from his lips. Unbridled after reaching his limit with the Junior Commissar's callous comments of his ideas. By the time he realised his mistake, it was already too late.

But the Junior Commissar remained silent. Not even bothering to meet the boy in the eye. None of his actions however said that he ignore the query. Volodya could discern as much when the Lho-stick stopped burning down to its stalk and simply hung lazily on the man's lips.

Given how close he just placed his head in the lion's mouth, Volodya did not dare speak back. Instead opting to patiently wait.

And so silence ensued between the two. Silence and I active amidst the cacophony surrounding them them. Like Lone islands amidst the raging sea.

Cadmar spoke at last but not with words Volodya expected to hear.

"Have you ever encountered an Astartes, Guardsman? A Space Marine?" Cadmar asked instead.

Volodya could only shake his head to respond to the curious question. Confused yet awed at the story.

"I met one once during one campaign years ago. Back when I was still a Cadet." Cadmar said. "I don't recall where, but that is not relevant. He didn't say much, mind you. They all don't. But he did have something to say about dreams. Or in which case, hope. I consider both being indiscernible, you see. He said that hope is the first step to disappointment. The way he said it, I tend to assume that it is an indoctrinated idea. A cruel one to be sure, but it is a truth I agree with nonetheless."

The Junior-Commissar paused for one last satisfying puff. Finally snuffing out the rest of the burnt stick on a crack between the slabs.

"The only kind of hope our lot are privy to is accepting the fact that you are already dead." Cadmar continued. "And it is our reality. One that will never disappoint whatever dice you roll and make you the soldier the Emperor wants you to be. Suffice to say, our line of work has no room for petty dreams, Guardsman. Only duty and faith. All else is resigned to the Emperor's Will."

"And His Will be done." Volodya made the Mark of the Aquila but with his head lowered along with his mood. One that was saddened after a harsh criticism of his ambitions.

A firm hand grasped his right shoulder. This made him raise his head and met the Junior Commissar eye to eye.

"This is not a reprimand. But a reminder, boy." Cadmar said. "I have nothing against ambition. Just as long as it does not stray or get in the way of the Emperor's own. Serve Him well and He might just tip the scales to your favour. Serve me well and you might be a step closer to what you desire."

Before Volodya could reply, the psyker, Lyudmilla, appeared before them. Breaking into the two men's circle with profound urgency. Faint blue light emanated from where eyes were from under her metal mask. Her skin was made pale and clammy as colour was drained from her flesh. Leaving only black vines of be bulging veins.

"Junior Commissar! Junior Commissar!" Lyudmilla cried loudly in manic alarm. "Great disturbance! Foul sorcery! The stench of the Warp!"

"Calm yourself, mutant." Cadmar said forcefully. His hand hovered over the weapon on his holster. "What is this about?"

Volodya also readied his Lasgun against the potentially hostile psyker. 2nd Lieutenant Rostislav appeared on their side with his Laspistol. A fellow masked Guardsman that he was with did the same.

"T-there is a disturbance. A disturbance in the Warp!" Lyudmilla cried. "I sense the enemy. I see the enemy! They are chanting. Channelling! By the Throne of Terra! They are Channelling a spell."

"What kind of spell?" Cadmar asked sternly. "Spit it out!"

Lyudmilla suddenly shot up like an arrow. As though realising the answers to her own riddles whispered by the ever shifting tides of the Warp.

"By the Throne." She gasped. Her mouth was agape in shock. "Their armies! They bring them here! Closing the distance to our position by means of portals!"

Needing no further prodding, Cadmar turned to his adjutant and relayed his commands.

"Inform the Captain of this. Report the same to the Colonel's HQ." Cadmar ordered. "And get 2nd Platoon back here. Now!"

No sooner than the Junior Commissar finished, loud bursting cracks of lightning appeared from the middle of the hill's slopes. Every pair of eyes turned and watched as dozens of blinding pillars of raging Warp energies tore through the air. Each yelled a dreadful chorale of ear piercing screams that scorched the ground below them with thicket branches of lightning.

None stood closer or more awed than the Guardsmen of 2nd Platoon who stood petrified in the open. A stones throw away from the horrors beyond the material realms.

"By the Throne." Volodya gasped in shock.

"To Arms! Firstborns of Vostroya! To Arms!" Junior Commissar Cadmar stormed in full view of his Guardsmen.

As much as Volodya wanted to hear the Junior Commissar's stirring speech, there was still a task that he must accomplish. Fumbling with his Vox-Caster, he shouted at its transmitter after directing it to a signal.

"2nd Platoon! 2nd Platoon! Fall back! I repeat, Fall back now! Hostiles incoming!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Approximately 300 meters from the frontmost Trench, a swirling portal appeared. A teeth gritting blare heralded their emergence. Ripping the fabric of space apart like bedsheets sheets before giving way. Opening a tattered hole with a whiplike boom that forcefully expelled the air around it. A phenomenon repeated as more portals of varying shales and sizes appeared parallel from each other and surrounded the middle of the Hill.

Each took the form of hellish red and purple fluids spiralling down a drain with a miasma of colourless dancing air at its tendrils. Vibrant rumbling sounds were heard inside the portal as an unquenchable horde of enemies spewed forth from every portal's gaping maw. Screaming and yelling myriad of beasts, monsters, and soldiers swept the blasted fields and assaulted

the slopes of Alnus Hill.

"AWOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH!" Howled the Werewolf Alphas at the head of their large hunting packs as they sprinted forth on all fours with their blades rattling on their backs. One or more of their direwolf companions sprinted at the forefront. Eager to taste the flesh of their foes.

"ROOAAAAAAARRR!" The Cat-People's Chieftains bawled by the bristles of his wild mane. Their feline warriors races ahead and hunched low like predators on the hunt. Their iron tipped claws were drawn and their jagged bladed spears whistled at the passing wind.

"ALALALA! ELELELOO!" Hooted the Amazonian Bunny Warriors and curve horned Satyrs as they easily hopped and pranced up the slopes. Covering great distances with a few steps while a normal man would take a few dozen more.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Clamoured the Orks from atop their monstrous boar mounts or from their massive rickety wagons of wood and bone. Clamouring behind or under them were hordes pesky Goblins mounted on frog-like hopping Squigs or snarling flee bitten wolves.

"CHARGE!" Cried the ironclad knights of all shapes and sizes from atop their mighty steeds and the noble champions in their fine crafted chariots. All of whom galloped at the forefront of the fray at the thunder of their hooves. Warhorns hastened their advance as they tipped their lances forward. Aiming to impale the first foe that comes their way.

Shadows on the ground lengthened as their sky riders blotted the sun. Hundreds of pairs of feathered and leathered wings from a myriad of terrifying and majestic beasts ruled the skies. Their riders, nobles and veteran heroes, joined the other quick footed soldiers emerging from the portal as vanguard to the assault. A task they accepted with pride as they would not accept anything less given their stature.

Gryphon and Dragon Riders. Pegasus and Wyvern Knights. Manticores and Gargoyles. Monstrous heavy air cavalry dived as one. Bearing down their preys at the heads of their lances, claws, and jaws in a daring nosedive charge.

Lighter air cavalry kept to the sky. Circling the perimeter of the hill but flying low enough to pepper the enemy with their projectiles. Hippogryph and Great Eagle Riders kept to their bows and javelins. Sirens and Harpies collected iron darts under their wings. Heroes and Spell-casters added their elemental magics to the fray. Whether for offence or support depended entirely on its users.

Thousands of nameless and faceless soldiers, monsters, and heroes assault the hill en masse. Cheering and yelling war cries in a dozen tongues but amidst all that, one name was spoken the same. Apart from the Orks, one name was spoken the loudest by most. A name of a god whose realm they treaded upon. The War God of this fantastical world.

"EMROY!" The soldiers cried at the tips of their weapoms before blindly running towards immortality in victory and in glory.

"EMROY!" The warriors clamoured for his blessing as they charged forth fearlessly to certain death.

"EMROY!" The rest of the other armies below the valley called forth. Trembling the earth once more under the weight of their massive hosts that gathered at the base of the hill.

Their Advance was heralded amidst the slow beats of blessed drums. The drums perceiving the footsteps of their war god marching to war. Every beat was the stride of his great feet as it walked amongst them.

Magical Fire blazed from ceremonial black iron braziers. The flames represented Emroy's fury that was fed with ritual sacrifices. The red smoke that rose above it represented his body made manifest. The great pillars gathered in the sky. Merging into the shape of Titanic figures. Emroy's "Avatars" that watched over those that fought beneath its shadow. Blessing them. Strengthening them. Protecting them from the perils that his followers would face.

Fear and the Realm of Hardy stalked the road before the soldiers of the Allied Kingdoms. But their faith in Emroy pushed them on. Victory or death, the gates of Emroy would open to them. Welcoming them to an eternal paradise befitting their status of warriors. Befitting to their bravery as how they faced death.

XXXXXXXXXX

That notion was shared by Lt. Vukosav whilst he stood with his Guardsmen at the slopes of the Hill. At the furthermost front facing the enemy.

Even before the Portals appeared on the slopes surrounding Alnus Hill, Lt. Vukosav already felt what was coming. Thanks in part from his hair and his beard rising from what he felt were from invisible hands of passing surges. The moment he dropped the corpse he was carrying, the first bright crackling sheets of purple Warp Energies.

"FALL BACK! FALL BACK TO THE TRENCHES!" Lt. Vukosav bellowed. Pulling and pushing any of his Guardsmen he came across. "RETREAT! RETREAT!"

He blew on his whistle to the alarm his other Guardsmen out of earshot.

The Platoon Sergeants and Corporals did the same to their own men. Barking orders while running from the discharging forks of crackling energy that scorched the ground under them with their writhing branches. They were all barely halfway up the trenches when the portals finished channeling to reality and with it were the vicious throngs of the enemy Feudal's forces.

"To me comrades! To me!" Lt. Vukosav cried as he stopped short around a few hundred meters or so from the Trenches. His "We hold the tide here! For glory or death!"

He was already ahead of everyone else and could have kept going. He could have run back to the safety of the trenches and led his retreating Platoon from there. Instead, Lt. Vukosav stood his ground there. Exposed and vulnerable with his Lasgun raised high. The sun shined on his Bronze Axe hilt that rallied his forces to him while at the same time revealed his position to the enemy.

Lt. Vukosav stayed when instead he could have ran because it was his duty. An oath he and his forebears of the same position swore as per Vostroyan tradition. That the honor of acting as rearguard in every retreating engagement falls in the hands of the Officer who ordered it and that they would not show their backs to the enemy until the last soldier in their command or comrade in arms makes it to safety.

That is what generations of his ancestors have done. And that is what Lt. Vukosav will do on that hill. But it was not a task that falls on him alone. Four of his comrades in his Command staff stood beside him along with his Guardsmen of 1st Platoon. It was a pale comparison compared to the forces the enemy had brought to bear, but it was enough.

"Firstborns of Vostroya! Line Formation!" Lt. Vukosav and his Guardsmen arranged themselves into a single line.

The Guardsmen bellowed a cry with their Lasguns pointed at the ready.

They were a mere 15 men against hundreds. A pebble against the raging tide. But with their retreating comrades' vulnerable backs were open to the enemy, Lt. Vukosav and his Guardsmen will hold the line. As their people did for over 10 thousand years.

The rush of adrenaline and the noise of the incoming Feudal's steps deafened Lt. Vukosav and his Guardsmen from the rest of the world. They stood there on the slopes in an empty void save for the enemies that were bearing down on them.

"In the name of the Emperor! FIRE!" Lt. Vukosav yelled and his Guardsmen obeyed as they fired red beams of crackling Lasfire.

A dozen or so Feudals fell dead or wounded in a blink of an eye. It did little to hinder the assault but it left some of the nearby Feudals dumbfounded. None so more than the ones who found themselves writhing on the ground before they could realise what struck them.

More of the same would soon follow at their second volley. But at the third, Lt. Vukosav and his Guardsmen were joined by the righteous fury of the entire 221st Firstborn Regiment and laying waste to the myriad of foes before them.

XXXXXXXXX

Amidst the chaos of the portal's appearance and the hostile Feudal's surprise attack, a message was spread throughout the Vox network and blare of Laud Hailers in the stronghold. A message spoken by Colonel Suvorov to the ears of every Imperial subject on that Hill. A message unheard by Lt. Vukosav and 2nd Platoon given their focus on retreat and survival.

" _Firstborns of the 221_ _st_. _Comrades of the Imperial Guard. Once again, the enemy insults us with another foolish assault. Once again they reveal to us their evils. Their cowardice. Their submission to heretical sorcery. Their fates are assured! Their deaths are assured! Let none of them leave this hill alive! The Emperor demands it! URA!"_

" **URAAAAAAAA!"** Alnus Hill thunderously cried as one to the surprised ears of the Feudals before erupting once more.

Every Trench, every bunker, every pillbox, every fortified position surrounding the hill lit up as their weapons were brought to bear with a thousand gun-flashes. The fields were sown by a storm of gunfire while the skies were blanketed by dreaded displays of explosions and death. Death that was wrought by a thousand guns. Fired from out of the barrels of a dozen different weapons of varying and terrifying shapes, sizes, and purpose.

The deafening cracks of Las-fire and plasma shots lit the fields with its blinding red beams and bright blue discharges that always found its mark. The ceaseless rapid thuds of Heavy Bolter shells and the relentless onslaught of Autogun slugs shredded foes like a scythe through grass. The skies screamed from flying missiles and falling men turned rag-dolls. The earth shattering displays of Imperial Artillery and explosives claimed innumerable numbers that disappear behind clouds of smoke.

Feudals were mowed down in large numbers. Beastmen howled as they were shot to pieces. Hundreds were crushed from Horses and monstrous mounts rolled over and fell atop of them. Hundreds more suffocated from the corpses piled atop of them and rivers of blood that was drowning them.

Their slaughter would have been no different from their previous battle if not for the fact that they were much closer to their enemy. Within eyeshot distance from the Guardsmen. Retreat was also impossible given the swarming troops barring any coward's way. There was no place to run to save for the space forward and so the slaughter persisted.

That hill was their Death Ground and so they continued their assault. Pushing further and further to gain more ground. More so when fresh reinforcements continue to pour from the portals that now included light infantrymen on foot. Some of which were adventurers and special units armed with better weapons or tools that aided their forces in their advance.

Horse archers and skirmishers fired from the safety behind their comrades. In range of their projectiles, they began showering the Imperial positions with arrows, stones, and spears. Though it did little to harm the well entrenched Guardsmen, the projectiles hampered their aim or cause some to take cover. Buying the Feudals precious seconds and meters to advance.

The more desperate ones erected walls out of their fallen's corpses. Makeshift cover to hide behind, hinder the enemy fire, and a rally point to muster their forces. Allowing them to gather in breath and strength before charging forth once more in force at a closer distance. While some used the cover to shoot back at the Imperials in the trenches.

If this persisted, the Feudals would soon find themselves on top of the Imperials. Fighting on equal terms with the Guardsmen. A fight that gave the Feudal heretics a chance of winning.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

None knew of this peril more than Lt. Zosef Vukosav of the 9th Company's 2nd Platoon. The task of killing those enemies attempting those and destroying such positions were added to their responsibility of covering their men. Now that he thought about it, the task of taking down corpses was what got them in this mess in the first place.

"2 o'clock! Fire!" Lt. Vukosav commanded 5 concentrated Lasgun volleys onto the third of such positions.

2 volleys took out the Wolf men tasked with erecting the corpse mound. Private Tsuijovich used the opportunity to get close with a Frak Grenade in tow. The other three volleys covered him by taking out the Satyrs and the Orks around him.

A few arrows struck the Guardsmen, but these were harmless and simply bounced off from his armour. Private Tsuikovich ran back to the group the moment he threw the grenade at the barbaric piece of cover. The explosion destroyed both the mound and the corpses that could be used to create another. Showering the field with scattered chunks from corpses.

"Withdraw!" Lt. Vukosav commanded

He and his Guardsmen raised their Lasguns in salute and gave ground to the enemy. Marching backwards in 5 long strides before stopping in their tracks and their weapons pointed forth for another shot.

Again and again, the order to FIRE and to WITHDRAW was given. And again and again, the Guardsmen fired 5 times before giving ground with 5 steps. Executing a perfectly acted 'Firing Retreat' that both caused casualties and delayed the enemy. Buying their comrades precious seconds for his forces to retreat while at the same time gave his rearguard to retreat along with them while maintaining a steady stream of covering fire that hampered the encroaching enemy.

With the other elements of their Regiment bogging down the enemy with unrelenting firepower, Lt. Vukosav was given leave to fire at specific enemies. Namely hostiles who were barrelling directly at them. Knights or beast men who were mere inches from their retreating troops. Largest beasts on the vanguard as means to hinder the enemy's march. Winged riders and monsters who were diving right at them.

Amidst one of their volleys, a status report found its way to Lt. Vukosav's ear.

" _Our platoon is back in position, Comrade-Lieutenant._ " One of his Sergeants, Uskovich spoke to him through the Vox. " _It is time that you do too, sir."_

"About damn time!" Lt. Vukosav snarked. "Lets get the hell out of here Comrades! Full retreat! Single file, move!"

At the sound of his whistle, the Lieutenant and his Squad ran as fast as their legs could take them. They retreated in a single file with Lt. Vukosav at the very rear.

The formation helped avoid any friendly-fire and gave their allies more avenues to shoot. The only issue however was that their safety costed them speed and allowed their much faster enemies opportunities to catch up to them. A case that required them to continue shooting as to avoid any hostile from overtaking or enveloping them.

The mines around the 200 meter mark helped buy them more precious seconds before the enemy's beast-men continued their dogged pursuit. Cunningly using the thick walls of smoke to cover their advance.

"Reload!" Lt. Vukosav said after killing a Satyr on the chest.

Turning his back on the enemy to reload almost cost him his life when a screeching Gryphon Knight materialised from behind the black smoke. Armed with a glowing lance, the winged Rider made a beeline for him. By the Emperor's grace, one of Lt. Vukosav's men spotted the hostile.

"Lieutenant!" He pointed behind him with a shout. He raised his Lasgun to shoot but a nearby explosion stifled his aim. His discharge only managed to singe the giant bird's feathers.

Alerted to the foe yet lacked ammunition, Lt. Vukosav held his Lasgun by its barrel and swung it at the incoming rider. His bronze axe on the Lasgun stock hummed as it cleaved through the air.

Lt. Vukosav judged his swing based on the sound of the Gryphon's cries and the growing shadow looming before him. His judgement proved too premature as his axe only sliced through one of the flying steed's claws and struck head deep into the feathered beast's neck.

The Gryphon screeched an earsplitting cry. Forcing Lt. Vukosav to leave his axe on the bird's neck to cup his ears. The great beast fell on its side and broke one of its massive wings. Its spare flapped wildly while its massive claws swiped blindly at anything close.

One such claw struck Lt. Vukosav on his breastplate that scattered sparks into the air. All it left was a shallow gash but it was enough to make the Vostroyan Officer stagger backwards. A loitering corpse made him stumble further and fall to the ground. Leaving him at the mercy of the rampant and terrified animal. Quick legs and last second reactions spared him from the onslaught until a Las-shot blew up a swinging claw to bloodied pieces.

"Kill the bastard! Shoot it dead!" A voice cried amidst a barrage Lasfire that struck the Gryphon dead.

"Lieutenant," Cpl. Kobrenesky knelt to Lt. Vukosav's side with an open hand. "Are you alright, sir."

Lt. Vukosav could only grunt back and accepted the helping hand. His Corporal patted the ash and dirt from the officer's uniform the moment he got up his feet. He was motioning to give his thanks to the Guardsman when a small flash glimmered at the corner of his eye.

"Look out!" Lt. Vukosav yelled just as sharp gust of whistling wind blew past their heads.

Corporal Kobrenesky barely dodged the invisible projectile thanks in part to the Lieutenant pushing him out of the way. A few specks of dust were the only thing that succeeded in hindering him. That same projectile however grazed a generous part of Lt. Vukosav's right ear. Splattering blood on the same corner of his eye.

The Lieutenant's ringing ears made it hard for him to focus. The blood splattered on his eye only made it even harder him to see. He focused enough however to find the perpetrator of his pain rising from the mangled remains of his once lively bird. He saw enough that his enemy was a tall chainmail suited knight with a colourful feathered helmet armed with a glowing lance. After wiping his own blood with his hands, Lt. Vukosav knew enough that he wanted the bastard's head.

The Gryphon Knight desired the same as he stood above them from atop his fallen steed. He spoke to the Firstborns, particularly towards Lt. Vukosav, in is indiscernible language. Threatening them with his balled fist and pointed at the Vostroyan's officer. Challenging him with an empty swipe of his lance.

The Guardsmen cut the speech short by shooting the man. The Gryphon Knight raised his round shield just in time to successfully deflect the red beams. The shield glowed as it took the brunt of the shots that left behind nothing more than black marks that marred the shield's blue sheen.

"The Bastard is mine!" Lt. Vukosav snarled and charging at his foe with his curved sabre drawn.

The close distance between the two men afforded the Gryphon Knight with only one strike. Something the hero was confident he could accomplish when he lunged at his opponent. The strike was as fast as it was true and struck the Lieutenant straight in the chest.

Forged by stalwart dwarves and strengthened by the magical incantations of the priest's of the Forge god Duncan, the Blessed Lance was a powerful weapon broke through any defences it got in its way for over a hundred years. A legendary weapon that was more than a match for a Millennia's worth of Imperial Military technology.

The magical weapon easily broke through Lt. Vukosav's Carapace armour and the Flak Armour underneath. It's white hot blade would have easily impale the flesh underneath if it weren't for Lt. Vukosav's quick thinking.

Lt. Vukosav's Faith on his equipment was not as keen as his Faith in his skill and in the Emperor. The many battles he has survived till that day proved as much to him.

The lance moved faster than what Lt. Vukosav could have anticipated and had struck him before he could bring his sword to bare. His armour failed him, but his skill as a swordsman and the Emperor's Will proved its worth once more as he parried the lance away. Causing the lance to tear a large gash on his Carapace armour and ripped his Flak Armour underneath.

Keeping up the momentum, Lt. Vukosav grabbed hold of the Griffon Knight's lance. The weapon burned through his gloves and scorched his hands but still held firm despite of it. Pinning it in place and preventing it from any use.

The Griffon Knight raised his shield the moment he saw the Vostroyan Officer's sabre poising to strike overhead. Lt. Vukosav carried this through despite of it. Going so far as to leap high as he brought his sabre down on his foe. Little did the Hero know that the strike was not aimed for the kill, but was aimed to maim him. Namely the Griffon Knight's exposed arm holding the lance.

The blow struck the chain-mail right above the man's right elbow. The armor did its job with protecting the flesh but not the blunt force that cracked his bones. Enough to make the Gryphon Knight shout in pain and giving Lt. Vukosav another window for another strike.

The second blow broke through the damaged mail and bit deep into the flesh beneath it. Lt. Vukosav finished it off by ripping the forearm clean off from its stump. An act that turned the Gryphon Knight's screams to blaring a blaring howl. Dropping his shield to attend to his blood spouting stump.

"Shut the fuck up!" Lt. Vukosav slashed the infuriating man's jaw. Silencing the fallen Hero's incomprehensible speech permanently.

Before sending his foe rolling down the hill with a kick, Lt. Vukosav returned the Blessed Lance back to its owner by impaling the man with it. The same magics that brought the Gryphon Knight fame led to his own death when the weapon easily tore through his armoured chainmail like it was paper. A death that Lt. Vukosav was more than happy to provide. Revelling the sight of a corpse rolling down the hill before it was stampeded on by its allies who persisted on their assault.

Lt. Vukosav would have revelled watching his foe's corpse rolling down the hill. It gave him small comfort from the seething pain trickling down his face. Alas, that was not meant to be as he and his Guardsmen were still too deep into danger.

Though Lt. Vukosav won the battle against the Griffon Knight, he had lost the war as it brought the mobs of enemies right on top of them. There was no escape for them now, that much they knew. They were at death's doorstep but it was one they planned to open in their own accord.

"Gra!" Lt. Vukosav caught dishevelled Bunny Warrior by the neck when it leapt at him with a longknife in tow.

The savage struggled under his grip. Wildly stabbed and slashing at his arm and his side before Lt. Vukosav pierced his sabre deep into the abhuman's shoulder. The Bunny Warrior gasped and writhed in pain but quickly dropped dead when the Vostroyan Officer crushed her neck.

Satisfied, Lt. Vukosav pushed the dead weight at an incoming Wolf man. The beast man instinctively caught the corpse and won him a sword in the chest.

"Stupid mutant!" Lt. Vukosav sneered as he impaled the two animals with each other. "The Warp take you both!"

The Vostroyan Officer pulled his sabre out of the two beastmen and sliced the Wolf man's face in half.

Red hot Lasfire passed over him as his Guardsmen rushed to the aid of their commander. Discipline and formations were the last thing in their mind as they charged forth amidst vibrant cries. Shooting wildly with their sharp bayonets pointed out. Clashing with the enemy. Stabbing, shooting, and clubbing enemies with their hilts of their gun.

"We are the Imperial Guard!" Sgt. Kaverin shouted defiantly. "We die standing!"

The stubborn Guardsmen held the line against the innumerable hordes. No different from their ancestors who fought and died for 10,000 years. But as courageous as they were, they inevitably fell one by one as they were swarmed by Feudal warriors and beastmen alike.

One was already impaled by a knight's charging lance. Another was trampled and crushed by hooves while another was mauled by the Tiger like Cat-men. All in all was a terrible sight for Lt. Vukosav to see. To watch his comrades, his brothers and sisters die before him.

"They are with the Emperor now." He lamented.

"Lieutenant!" Cpl. Kobrenesky called from behind.

Lt. Vukosav turned just in time to find his subordinate running past him to toss his ax hilted Lasgun to its owner. He caught it just in time with both hands and quickly noticed that a fresh power pack was fed into the blood splattered weapon.

"I'd hate to see you dead without this, sir!" The Corporal cackled past before leaping at a large Ork Boar Rider. His bayonet dug deep into the xeno's chest and pulled it down with him. Disappearing from view amidst the shapeless mobs before exploding.

"My thanks, Corporal Kobrenesky." Lt. Vukosav whispered. "Do not wait long. All of you."

With his Lasrifle Axe on his right and his sword on his left, Lt. Vukosav charged at his foes. The image of his Emperor lay clear in his mind. Eternally watching those Loyal to Him. As Lt. Vukosav faced the terrible monsters before him, he knows that the Emperor is watching him with pride as one more Guardsman shall be welcomed into His Golden Halls.

That said, Zosef Vukosav knew no fear.

"VOSTROYA NAVSEGDA!***" Lt. Vukosav roared. "FOR THE EMPEROR!"

A black horned Satyr fell before the blow of the Vostroyan's axe. Its shield shattered as the blade parted its arm in two and dug its head onto its chest. Lt. Vukosav intended to finish it off with a sabre thrust in face when an Ork with a massive cleaver appeared.

With a swing of his sabre, the Ork lost its fingers and its cleaver. Lt. Vukosav followed this with a downward swing of his axe onto the Xeno's neck and stopping short in its chest. Black blood gushed out from the wounds but the Ork was far from dead.

The Ork grabbed Lt. Vukosav's face with its remaining hand. Its massive digits easily enveloped his entire head. Lt. Vukosav almost vomited after smelling its foul disgusting fingers but soon began screaming in pain when they began tightening on his face.

In desperation, Lt. Vukosav reluctantly dropped his sabre and pulled his axe off of the Ork's body with both hands. It was a race against time as he began to feel his eyeballs popping out from his sockets from the strain. A race he barely won by a thread when he pointed his Lasgun's barrel under the Ork's heavy chin.

A pull of the trigger blasted the Xeno's jaws off with blood and teeth splattering the air. Another took out most its face that left its eye hanging idly on the side. The last one shot up its nape and sent its head flying off from its neck in a bloody display.

The Ork's massive headless body fell on top of Lt. Vukosav. Pinning him in the ground under its weight. He barely had time to pull the Xeno's dead hands off of him when more hostiles engaged him.

Cat-men, Pig-men, and Knights. Every single one of them failed to get within a knife's distance before getting shot down by a Las-shot or two. All the while Lt. Vukosav was lying on the ground with a dead Ork on top of him.

The sudden appearance of a Wolf-man caught the Lieutenant in his unawares. Instead of baring its fangs on his neck, the beast man bared it at his Lasgun. Ripping it from his hands before hovering a knife over Lt. Vukosav's eye. A knife he barely stopped with two hands and struggled to keep away despite all his strength.

The Wolf man used everything in its disposal to make it as difficult as possible for the Vostroyan Officer. It dripped slobbering spit down on his face and his eyes while adding its weight on the corpse atop its victim. Factors that made it difficult for Lt. Vukosav to fight back or to escape, or to even breath.

The cold knife point pressed on his cheek and kept going until the flesh began to tear beneath. A drop blood was all the knife could shed before the Wolf man's head exploded from a booming gunshot. Blood, Brains, and pieces of bone was splattered on Lt. Vukosav's face. Spilling over his eyes and adding another corpse on top of him.

Trapped, blinded, exhausted, and deafened, Lt. Vukosav fell to darkness with a smile on his lips. Death, he thought, has claimed him alas. But the before falling to unconscious, Lt. Vukosav thought that he was hearing rumbling revving of a chainsaw.

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The chapter is supposed to be a longer one but then I though, wouldn't you all like it better if there are more chapters depicting the battle? My answer to that is, why not?

Chapter 3 will be coming soon. Send me your likes and reviews in the meantime. Peace.

* **Saps –** shallow and more elevated parts of the trench used for machine gun nests, grenade throwing positions, or observation posts. These are usually located in the frontmost trenches.

I based the Vostroyan language on Russian and Google Translate. Like Cadmar, I apologize if the native speakers think that I butchered your language. I do my best and do it with the utmost respect for the source material.

 ****Translation:** But better to know your comrades

***This song is based on the Soviet Song, The Red Army is the Strongest. I hope that my translation and changes made in its lyrics is acceptable and entertaining. Feel free to sing along in either English or in Russian.  
 **Translation** :

Legions of Traitors, Black Horus  
Are trying to invade the Golden Throne  
But from Holy Terra to Vostroya  
The Firstborn of Vostroya is the strongest!

Refrain:

Let the firstborn Vostroya  
Charge forward. Onwards!  
Bayonets with hardened hands  
and we should all  
Unstoppable by walls  
Go fight to the death!

Firstborn march, march forward!  
The Emperor calls us to battle!  
from the eye to the eastern fringe

Refrain:

Let the firstborn Vostroya  
Charge forward. Onwards!  
Bayonets with hardened hands  
and we should all  
Unstoppable by walls  
Go fight to the death!

The sacred flames and fires we ignite  
We wiped out demons and infidels  
From behond the Warp to Holy Terra  
Vostroya is the strongest! Vostroya is the strongest!

*** **Translation** : VOSTROYA FOREVER!


	6. The Battle of Alnus Hill (Part 3)

**A/N:** Happy New Year to All and to all a New Chapter. Love the growing community we have here and hope it keeps on growing the more Chapters and stories I pump out. Haha!

 **WREN-PL -** Apologies for the wait but thank you for the enthusiasm. Here it is! The next update!

 **Gilgamesh King of Mongrels-** the Feudals did not arrive in Holy Terra. But they did arrive on a Holy Shrine world.

 **Bruce USSR -** I'm afraid that the Space Marines have yet to arrive in this side of the world yet. But soon enough, the World of Falmart will soon know of the Power of the God Emperor

 **Shadow Sword** – Sabaton is among the songs I listen to while I write this and Man of War is fitting in some of these upcoming scenes. While other songs are fitting on other scenes both here and the future.

 **CykaBlyat1917 –** Religion Will play a large part in this story and the ministorum and their ordos are promised to arrive. Pardon also for my Russian, what I write is only a rough translation.

 **Guest -** I'll try to write this stuff faster. I'll make more time doing so.

 **Captain Titus Invictus** -I'm happy that you are.

 **KnightOfZaku-** Your praise is most appreciated. More challenges, heroes, and battle awaits.

 **Lord Asmodeus** – History and reality tend to be much more brutal than fiction in terms of execution. I wont cower against showing it in terms of racism, enophobia, abuse, massacres, and religious fanaticism. Thank you for your support.

 **General broussard –** neither I'm afraid. Haha!

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The Colonel's speech was fresh in the Regiment's ears. His moving words coursed through every Guardsman's veins. Duty and patriotism made their hearts beat as one. Drumming up a storm that could be heard in corners of the valley. Hatred for the enemy. Anger against the traitors. Wrath against the alien. Boiling their blood until it was screamed alongside the first salvos of their guns on the 1212th hour.

Junior Commissar Cadmar stood between all these with a smile. His a finger tapped in tune with the crack of lasgun volleys. With that he showed a rare case of happiness magnified by the Colonel's words that stirred his heart. No different from every loyal Guardsmen fighting alongside him and the entire stronghold at large.

What that smile did not show however was charm in any shape or form. It was a wicked smile that was matched by the shine on Cadmar's beady eyes. A smile etched in maliciousness. A satisfying evil grin that stretched ear to ear. A satisfaction his eager hand trembled alongside with the rumble of his chainsword.

To watch his enemies fall like reaped wheat made his heart leap. To see scores of foes get scattered like dust by a gust of wind brought him utmost joy. To hear their voiceless screams as they were cut down gave him pleasure. To smell the scent of gunpowder, smoke, and blood gave him a tingling sensation down his spine. The sight of his wards of the 9th Company committing to the duty bestowed upon them as Guardsmen gave him swell with pride

His Bolter Pistol was within reach and within eyeshot of the nearby Guardsmen. Cadmar was their reaper that made each of them hold their breaths nervously at his passing shadow. He was their whip that hastened their triggers and encouraged their shots to be true. He was a visage no different from the Commissars assigned to other companies on other fronts. And like those other Commissars, Cadmar did not join in the volleys. He did not fire into the field or spend any shots at any foe that he caught in his sights. At least not yet. But until then, its purpose was of better use elsewhere in the battlefield.

Though no different from any Bolter Pistol stocked in the Munitorum's arsenal, placing one in the hands of a Commissar turns the weapon into something fearsome to behold. Imbued with power and authority that spans from the lowliest of trenches to the highest of tables. Much like its bullet, none were spared and all are killed without prejudice once judgement was given.

For order. For obedience. For courage. A Commissar's Bolter Pistol provides all three with one shot. Cadmar would cast his eyes over his troops for that reason alone from time to time. Eager to "motivate" any Guardsman whom he felt was lacking. But that was not to be. The 9th Company were still at high spirits for now. The course of the battle was still early and has not yet arrived at its zenith.

The sight of the Warp-spawned portals however might just change that. Spotting them on his side of the battlefield was enough to contort Cadmar's malicious smile into a seething scowl. Magic always left a foul taste in his mouth. Looking at its perversions of nature alone made him sick.

Vox reports from other fronts were all the same. Advisories of Portals appearing in a perimeter halfway up the Hill. Disappearing and reappearing at random locations along that same perimeter. Each capable of spewing hordes of enemies that easily broke through their preliminary defences. Artillery was hard pressed. Stretched thin to cover ever large swaths of land that the enemy covered. Direct hits from any of their cannons and guns were ineffective any direct shots into the portal only sent the shells shooting through to the other side. Mortar bombs fared no better as they exploded prematurely when striking the flames swirling around the Portal's mouth to no damaging effect.

"Keep up the barrage!" Cadmar shouted down the limes. "Ensure that every shot makes its mark! Less I mark you with mine! Those inbred Feudals are almost on top of us! Make them pay for every inch! Emperor Willing, they will soon break!"

The volleys were in order. Not one Guardsman fell behind on their shots. Morale was still high. But something in the air made Cadmar unsure of their chances. That somehow the Balance of Power in the battle was somehow tipping against them.

Mines have all been exhausted. Incendiaries were all naught but embers or was earlier quenched by magics. Barbed wires were overburdened or pushed aside by the weight and muscle of men. Hundreds paid for every foot of ground but it was a cost that the Feudals could well afford as more and more emerged from the Portals like an unending tide.

No amount of speeches was going to turn the tide. Executing Guardsmen would only do more harm than good as he would be soon needing every man to hold a gun against the massive shadow looming beyond the valley.

The last reserves of the Feudals' Southern Main Armies have finally crossed the river and were slowly encroaching the valley to the hill. An untouched storm that Cadmar and every commander in the Southern Sector knew they could not brave without considerable losses. A great leviathan that Cadmar knew he must wound considerably to blunt its devastating rampage to his lines. Where that wound must be dealt with lie exactly within the pondering Cadmar's reach.

"The Portals." Cadmar muttered to himself. "But how?"

The question was beyond him and it made him hate the situation more. Hate that did not stem from his lack of viable options or him berating his own ignorance but hate from what he was forced to do. Considering help from the most unlikely and disdained source.

"Psyker!" Cadmar barked at his least favourite ward.

The Sanctioned Psyker Ludmilla jolted in surprise expectedly. Whether it was due to the command or the way it was given was irrelevant. Obeying as she was ordained to do, she approached him. Shrinking down inside her robes as she sheepishly passed under the suspicious glares of Junior Commissar's adjutant, Pvt. Olenov, and the Company's Standard Bearer, 2nd Lieutenant Rostislav, who both stood on Cadmar's flanks. Upon arriving beneath Cadmar's shadow, the girl proceeded to quickly bow before the officer profusely.

"H-how may I serve? My Commissar." The Psyker said meekly.

"I am not yet a true Commissar, Psyker." Cadmar sharply corrected. "Address me as, Sir."

"Y-yes, my Ju—"

"Enough of that." Junior Commissar Cadmar intruded. "Now. Tell me what your eyeless sockets see. Use the powers the Emperor has bestowed upon you to find what you can about those portals. Or stop it if needs be. Now go."

"Yes. Of course, sir." The Psyker obeyed with a low bow.

"Is this wise, Comrade-Junior Commissar Cadmar?" 2nd Lt. Rostislav asked. The old man never took his eyes off of the Psyker who was preparing its rituals a few paces away.

"The Emperor Protects, 2nd Lieutenant." Cadmar simply replied with a cock of his Bolter Pistol.

XXXXXXXXXX

Lyudmilla began with a deep breath. Tapping into the primordial powers of the Warp, she melded its raw energies into streaks of silver mists that emanated from her fingertips and seeped out from her mouth. The pigment of its calloused hands changed as crackled of electricity coursed from her veins to her fingertips. Its dull staff lit like a beacon while light shined from inside its silverplate mask.

The men around her, unused and unease at the sight of Warp magics, instinctively gripped tight on their weapons. Cadmar almost pulled the trigger on the Psyker's head when it suddenly jolted back with its mouth gaping wide. Whispering a wordless tune before a light flashed out from its chest and into the battlefield.

Ludmilla's body remained by the Junior Commissar's side in the trenches. The hollow shell of flesh acting as an anchor while her mind and soul flew above the battlefield as an invisible presence. There she entered the Ethereal Plane, the world between the Material and the Immaterial realms. A journey that went beyond space and time with its own set of rules as it merged the two realms as a basterdized version of both.

Everything in the Ethereal Plain appeared familiar yet differed as a contrast of different colours painted the world around her. Objects appeared strange as it and its shadows shifted in shapes at every blink of an eye. It was all very beautiful but the horrors of war made it as terrifying as it was perilous. More so amidst a sea polluted by death and emotions such as a battlefield.

A great shadow loomed above all. A great unspeakable and indescribable creature with a thousand black tendrils. Dishevelled limbs and shapeless forms like hair floating in the surface of water. Ludmilla saw it wiser to float down to ground level. Hiding herself amongst the silhouettes of people that make up the whole field while those creatures fed on the lost souls littered for miles on end.

Ludmilla floated between the endless throngs of beasts and men. Gingerly crossing any gap she could find and being careful not to touch any of them. It was difficult not to see their faces. Ferocity was most common with their snarling mouths and frothing lips. Others were more indifferent. As though accepting their fate yet desperately holding stock to faith. But the truth was laid before all their eyes and everyone was shrouded by the shadow of fear. None showed this more than the ones in their final moments. Among the thousands dead and dying that glanced her feet.

Ludmilla could not help but feel sorry for all of them. Sorry for both man and beast regardless. Heretical as it sounds, her feelings were sincere as she saw the world differently with her eyeless lids unlike the ones who do. Her eyes only see the souls that lay within. No more than a humble candlelight that danced inside a black silhouette. All of them were alike to her. All of them are the same

Glancing over those fields of dying tiny lights, one could not help but feel pity. Each flickered tiny tongues of fire before shrinking and growing cold as their bodies. From its dying embers, a wisp of smoke emerges from their body's wounds. Slithering into forms as unrecognizable and as inhuman as their dismembered bodies. Ignorance and desperation made them dangerous. Their hands reached out and grabbed hold to anything that came near. Clinging onto faint hope, whatever that is.

Ludmilla could not bare to look at them anymore. Even for someone like her, she could only take so much from their tortured faces and their terrifying noise. She raced for the nearest portal to escape it all but her haste to escape only brought her more pain.

The portal appeared before her as a magnificent blazing sun. A swirling hurricane of raw Warp energies with long coiling tendrils that danced with the breeze. Its searing light blinded Ludmilla as Icarus who flew too close to Apollo. And like Icarus, Ludmilla found herself being burnt alive by the Portal's piercing gaze. Her entire body being chipped away into embers. The heat only rose higher the closer she approached until she could not move closer anymore as a hundred tongues of searing fire struck her from all sides.

Ludmilla's soul burned as did her body in the Material Realm. Red blotches materialised on her skin. Crimson cinders bit into the corners of her robes. Tears trickled down her cheeks while smoke seeped through her lips. Ludmilla bit her lips to hold back the pain but her mouth gaped wide to a wordless scream as the torturous flames ate her alive.

It was a struggle for her to keep her mind and body intact. All she had to hold on to sanity was no more than a hair's string. Something so simple was at a high price that was paid by great concentration and sheer will but even this could break easily against the relentless tide pouring at her.

Ludmilla saw herself as no more than a pebble against a landslide. A small candle against the billowing wind. No matter how much she struggled against it, somehow she knew that it would do little to halt the inevitable.

A pebble against a landslide, she thought. Ludmilla remembered hearing that from elsewhere. She remembered it from a poem about a legend. A simple thought. A simple thing. Something akin to hope struck her mind and it was enough to inspire her to keep fighting. The powers stacked against her were too strong to challenge directly. It was through the pain she suffered did she discover something about her foe that she could exploit. The fuel behind these flames were pure Warp energies. The Psykers channeling the portals did not bother to transmute these energies to anything else so they remained raw and wild.

Whether the enemy knew this or not did not matter to Ludmilla. All that mattered was the advantages it gave her. That advantage was the ability to siphon these energies for herself and cast more powerful spells at no cost of her own strength.

Ludmilla concentrated her power onto her limbs and danced in an array of fluid motions as to turn the course of the tides around her. Concentrating her hardest to shift the flow elsewhere while she became one with the waves. Her spell did not come without cost but this was easily paid for by the raw Warp energies she absorbed around her. Using it as her own to fuel a spell that began to tax her more and more the closer she got to the portal.

The blistering flames released their grip. The blazing heat was flushed away as they were led elsewhere to be scattered by the breeze. The portal's sharp tendrils that whipped and stabbed were calmed and swayed away with a wave of her hand. Ludmilla's single mindedness and her delight to the shift in her pace blinded her to the changes these Warp energies did to her form.

There was but one thing that she noticed through this experience. For the first time in her life, she had never felt so warmth and it made her heart soar. She felt as though the Emperor Himself was guiding her frail hands. Hot white Beams of light shot out from the sockets of her eyes. Her flesh glowed bright gold as she transformed into a being of pure light. Never had young Ludmilla felt so much power before and it invigorated her.

The powers Ludmilla invoked created a charred black path. Devoid of life and led straight to the portal's eye. With one final breath, she shot herself into it like a falling star. The still silhouettes barring her way were blown aside as Ludmilla entered the portal with an almighty blow.

Opening her eyes, Ludmilla found herself inside the portal. A long echoing tunnel with endless waves of varying hues churning around her. A thin veil marked the end of the tunnel where four Feudal Psykers flanked it with two on each side.

Their eyes were blazing furnaces of purplish flames. Their hands glowed bright from the crackling energies coursing their their ancient staffs. Spells and chants were mouthed voicelessly but their words echoed amongst the shifting walls of the portal. Words that reached Ludmilla's ears as though a hellish choir sang in an empty hall.

Long lines of men stood not far behind. Their gaily colored attires shined under the beating sun and their tall proud banners flapped wildly against the gust. One group of a hundred men separated themselves from the rest. With howling cheers, they charged forth towards the portal and Ludmilla with glimmering steel raised high only to pass through the young Psyker's body like shadows.

"The Material World!" Ludmilla exclaimed as she looked around her in disbelief. "But How? Why? Am I? I remain a spirit! I remain ethereal?"

Disbelief persisted her despite the cold facts that lay before her. Though adept in her craft, everything that she had experienced inside that bridge of bridges went against everything she knew or understood in the Realms of Magic. It astonished her on how a Feudal civilisation before the advent of gunpowder could create unknown magics more advanced than Ten Millenia worth of knowledge and rewrite laws that a thousand generations of Archmages of the Adeptus Telepathica struggled to establish.

Too keen on her thoughts, Ludmilla didn't notice the changes her presence brought to the portal. Her Warp energies merded with the Portal's that added a bright golden hue. So bright that soldiers charging at her were blinded by its radiance. Running or falling amidst wailing tears. Among the words they cried out was of a golden angel and how it robbed them of their eyes. How they were too impure to bask in her beauty thus suffer the wrath of her judgement.

The Psykers channeling the spell also felt this change as well as the hair on their skin rose and felt their energies course through their veins up to their fingertips. Colour was flushed from their skin along with their strength as the task of anchoring the portal to existence became ore taxing as the portal began siphoning more of their energies than usual.

The sight of death's approaching shadow gave them realization of its inevitability the longer they held onto the spell. But try as they might, the spell refused to release them. As if it gained sentience, the Portal refused to disappear. Fighting back desperately like a man inches away from death. It held tight onto the Psykers but as each freed themselves from its grasp, the stronger its hold became. By the time it held on its last remaining Psyker, its grip was near unbreakable and continued to drain what little energy its anchor could provide. Decades passed the Psyker's body in matter of seconds until he was no more than a heap of dust inside ragged robes.

The seconds that damned that Psyker was Ludmilla salvation. The small window between that Psyker's choking screams and his painful encroaching allowed Lyudmilla to slip away. Once the Psyker expired into a mound of dust, so did the portal as it collapse out of existence the moment the anchor was cut from its chains. Disappearing in an implosion that sucked itself and whatever was trapped in it to gods know where.

By then Ludmilla was gone. Blinked out from existence only to find herself back to Mortal Realm gasping for breath after awakening from an exhausting dream. Her trembling hands barely clung on to her staff from the sweat of her palms. Her eyes wept from the burning pain as though a kindling fire scorched it. What felt like hours to her in the Ethereal Realm was no more than a minute in the Material Realm. A minute that the Junior Commissar Cadmar found as time wasted.

The black clad officer towered over her with the barrel of his Bolter Pistol threatening the Psyker's skull. Though ignorant of her plight, Junior Commissar Cadmar knew enough that Ludmilla was has returned safely from her trance. He greeted her back by pulling her upright by the hood of her robes like a marionette. The blistering knots tight around her collar dug deep into Ludmilla's thin neck before her back struck rockcrete from being pushed hard at the trench walls.

"Get up, Psyker." He ordered impatiently. "Report!"

"Yes. Yes, Sir." Ludmilla answered in between gasps of air. Cowering before the terrifying Commissar. "The portals are. Are channeled into reality. By. By other Psykers ." The Psykers fuel. Fuel the portals. Commanding its beck. And call. Without them. The portals would cease to be."

"Kill the Psykers. We kill the portals." The Junior Commissar pondered. His eyes scanned the field. "Artillery won't be of any help. Their appearance are too erratic."

The Junior Commissar's eyes turned to the Psyker.

"You're too useless to be of use with destroying them." He observed. "But you might still have some use for me…"

"I-It was a miracle, sir." Ludmilla nodded.

"How close are the Psykers from the portals? Where are they?." The Junior Commissar asked with urgency.

"Close, Sir." Ludmilla jolted. "C-close t-to be able to both. Both channel and fuel the Portals to. To existence. It takes a toll from them. Great. Great concentration is needed for every tear. Moreso when holding it open."

"Will killing one Psyker destroy the spell?"

"I believe so—"

"I don't care about your beliefs." the Junior Commissar interjected with an impatient hand. "I want facts."

"It-t-t is enough." Ludmilla answered quickly. Retreating inside her hood.

"Will it kill the others and stop further attempts to create them?"

"Yes, sir." Ludmilla nodded feverishly. "It will, sir. There's no. Not that many of them. Sir."

"Hmmm." The Junior Commissar pondered quietly. His eyes scanned the field. "Will you be able to sense where they'll appear, Psyker?"

"I-I can tr—." Ludmilla stopped to correct herself. "Yes, sir. I beli—. Yes, I c-c-can."

"I guess that it will have to do." The Junior Commissar sighed heavily before turning his gaze back to the battlefield.

Ludmilla did not need to read the man's mind to know what he had in store for her and it scared her more than anything. Not the Commissar. Not the tasks he had planned for her. What frightened her more were the fates of people on the palm of her hands. Only a bullet could be more merciful than guilt.

"Y-y-yes, sir. Junior Commissar." Ludmilla bowed low. Her hands trembling a storm.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Get me the Captain." Cadmar ordered his adjutant, Pvt. Olenov, carrying the Vox-Caster radio and tore receiver from the boy's hand.

" _Captain Ozerov speaking_." The other line introduced itself in between hums of static.

"Junior Commissar Cadmar." Cadmar responded. "I have a plan."

" _Do you now? And for what?"_ Captain Ozerov inquired.

"Those portals are meant to buy time for the main force to arrive. They plan to gain a foothold on our position to Summoning more portals closer to our position."

" _I see as much from where I'm standing too. What do you plan to do about it then?"_

"I plan to kill the Psykers summoning it by blowing them up. I understand that the enemy do not have that many else there'd be more portals."

" _Simple plan. And easy to remember."_ The sarcasm was hard to miss in the captain's tone. " _Do you not think I don't know that? Artillery is ineffective even after scoring direct hits. Why waste waste time? Why waste ammo? On ineffective things when I could use them more effectively on other things. I have tried all I can, Comrade-Junior Commissar."_

"You haven't tried every everything yet, Captain." Cadmar said. "But to do it, I will need your best. I'm taking your shock troopers. Our Psyker will direct our troops to where those portals will next appear and blow up those damned things and their Psykers back to the Warp."

" _With all due respect, Junior Commissar, but that is out of the question._ " Captain Ozerov snapped. " _I've heard and had my share of mad tactics before, but this is amongst the maddest! Your plan compromises our position and leaves us vulnerable to the enemy. You risk too much for too little gain."_

"All victories come with a cost. I plan on buying this one cheap." Cadmar replied with a calm yet strict tone. "Any other alternative risks compromising our position even more. To stay as we are will allow the enemy to overrun us, flank the other Companies, and decreases any chance of a decisive victory. Any victory gained by the Regiment from that outcome would be pyrrhic as well as a disgrace for the 9th Company and its descendants. That is, if we do not act now."

The Captain fell silent behind the line. Short time as it was, it might as well have felt

like an eternity to Cadmar.

" _It is suicide."_ Captain Ozerov pressed.

"That's why I'm leading it myself." Cadmar replied. The other line fell silent. "I called not you to ask for your permission. I called to inform you of my intentions and to have you order your Guardsmen to check their fire while we are out there. I have the authority of the Commissariat, Captain. You'd be wise to obey it."

" _As it is my duty, Junior Commissar."_ The Captain spoke after a short pause. " _What will you need?"_

"A crawling artillery strike. 40 seconds. And a means of speedy evacuation once we accomplish our mission. You'll know it when we do. Over and out."

That said, Cadmar tossed the Vox-Caster's receiver back to his adjutant.

"STRELTSY!" Cadmar called out as he rose over the heads of his Guardsmen. His voice was amplified by the Laud Hailer strapped on his collar. "Front and Center, Guardsmen! On me!"

A number of Lasguns down the line ceased their fire. A number of Guardsmen left their posts on the firing lines and made their way towards Cadmar's position at a quickened march only to arrange themselves before him in ordered lines and stood in crisp attention. The aura they emitted screamed royalty and elite with their bronze polished Carapace Body Armor, the bright medals and clean ribbons, and a shining sigil of the Streltsy marked on their right shoulder, a Lasgun and a bardiche crossed above a black cog on a red and white field.

These Guardsmen represented the pinnacle of what every military strives for. The highest echelon of the Warrior Class Elites. Embodiments of the best soldiers that planet has to offer that inspires generations more when waging the Emperor's Wars.

The Death Korp of Krieg have the grim Grenadiers. The Cadian Shocktroopers have the superior Kasrkin. Even the Catachan Jungle Fighters have the fearsome Catachan Devils. The Vostroyan Firstborn in turn had the noble Streltsy.

Founded in the forgotten lore of the Age before the Heresy, the Streltsy were more known as once being the Elite Guards of the Techtriarchy. The private army of the governing body of Vostroya. Skilled, competent, and fanatically loyal, the Streltsy kept the peace by keeping the populous at an iron grip.

Remembrancers claim the Streltsy as the progenitor of the modern Vostroyan military culture. From their uniform, to their tactics, and most notably to their means of recruitment as the original Streltsy were reinforced by the first borns of the High-Born Warrior Elite Class alone. A tradition preserved by the modern Streltsy as only nobles could join its prestigious ranks subjected to more rigorous training and advanced weapons.

Many were armed with Vostroya-Pattern Lasguns, but their signature weapon remains to be the Vostroya-Pattern Lascarbine. Nicknamed the "Hail-Gun" for its ability to unleash punishing barrages of laser fire that easily turns an enemy to mincemeat in seconds. An ability that was akin to a Hell-Gun.

Hell-Guns were light machine guns to the Hail-Gun's sub-machine gun. Though not as power as the former, the Drum-Fed Hail-Gun makes up for its compact design and portable design. A weapon suitable for close quarters and urban warfare but is also adequate in the open. Capable of mowing down droves of enemies easily before needing to reload or overheats.

Junior Commissar Cadmar considered the weapon more than appropriate for the obstacles they were about to face. The sight of more familiar weapons like the Plasma Gun, Flamers, and Hell-guns were also more than welcome for the mission. He believed that if these Guardsmen could fight as good as they looked, their mission would prove more fruitful than he originally expected.

"How can I help, sir?" Pvt. Olenov appeared next to him. His Lasgun held close and ready.

"You will remain here and aid the Psyker." Cadmar ordered. His eyes remained on the mustering Streltsy. "Report her coordinates from the Vox to us on the field."

"But sir," Pvt. Olenov objected. "My duty is to be at your side."

"Your duty is to obey my commands!" Cadmar flared. "You have your orders, boy. Obey it! Else I find someone else who can."

"Yes, sir." Pvt. Olenov quickly saluted before moving to the side to assemble his Vox-Caster for all frequencies.

Cadmar's pocket-watch ticked on his hand and showed ample time before the barrage. Just enough to both brief his troops of their mission and to inspire them for the upcoming battle.

"Streltsy!" Cadmar called as he walked down their line."Time is against us, so take my orders to heart for I will say it only once. Our objective is the enemy's portals. You are tasked with your squads to destroy them. The Psyker will Vox you where those portals will next appear. You will follow the Psyker's coordinates to the dot. And without question."

Ludmilla shrank in her robes when she felt the cold eyes of the Streltsy glared at her from behind their bronze gas-masks.

"Each of you possess one Melta-Charge. One would be enough for this task." Cadmar continued. "The chosen sapper, I care not who, will toss them into the portal as they appear. The others will cover the sapper until that portal blows up with the people in it before moving to the next. Use any means to accomplish this mission. Even if it costs you your lives, those portals must be destroyed. Evacuation plans are arranged once we finish. Any questions?"

A lone Streltsy raised its hand before the Junior Commissar. Like the others around it and unlike the rest down the line, the Streltsy presented its posture as worn down as the state of its uniform. Their once bright red coats lost most of its sheen from the dirt and debris marring it. Dents and scratches pocked their once bronze armor. Their stance were as heavy as their breaths. Heaving from the marathon they were forced to run during their ordered retreat back to friendly lines.

"You are of 2nd Platoon. A Sergeant." Cadmar observed from the number and stripes on the soldier's uniform. Or what was left to call it that. "You present yourselves poorly, Sergeant. As is the state of your uniforms. Filthy."

" **That may be, Comrade-Junior Commissar. But our guns are still clean**." The Streltsy tapped on his weapon confidently.

This made Cadmar smile. The man's grit was as clear from the gun's shine on its polished woodwork and bronze. There was a lot of fight in these men yet.

"Sgt. N…Us-ko-ovich." Cadmar read the man's identification carefully. "Am I saying this right?"

" **Yes, Comrade-Junior Commissar.** " The Sergeant nodded.

"Sgt. Uskovich." Cadmar repeated the name with more familiarity. "You question and wish if we are to save your Lieutenant as what is possibly left of your comrades."

" **Yes, sir**." Sgt. Uskovich replied. The Streltsy's fingers fidgeted.

Cadmar had forgotten about the Lieutenant, his men, and their plight in all honesty. Now that he did it, Cadmar reflected that he had no qualms on his actions and had no issue over their fates. They were not the priority in this battle.

A Guardsman's Duty was to die and it was the duty of people like Cadmar to lead them where they could die. Preferably with their hands around their enemy's throats. From where he stood during the Battle of Alnus Hill, Cadmar could think of no better place for the Lieutenant an his men to die other than where they were now. On an open field against an unrelenting tide of foes where they have the clear view and clearest intent to kill many down before getting killed themselves.

"Our priority are the Portals, Sergeant." Cadmar answered without hesitation. "Their fates are falls upon the Emperor's Will. Will you perform your duty as commanded?"

Mask or none, Cadmar knew that the Sergeant had more to say as evident from the man's body language. Cadmar held tight to his Bolter Pistol in case the Sergeant intended to test him or say something out of place.

 **"I will. Junior Commissar**." Sgt. Uskovich said instead but with much hesitation. His gloves strained from the fist curling inside but decided to do nothing more of it.

The Sergeant once more said the right words yet again but words could only take one so far. Cadmar has yet one more test to prove this man's purity and dedication.

"I'll be seeing that you do out there, Sergeant." Cadmar replied. "Because you and 2nd Platoon's Streltsy are to be my honour guard for this battle. Do you answer the call?"

The announcement surprised the Company but none more 2nd platoon as it was a position of high regard. Sgt. Uskovich however saw through the thin veil and saw the inescapable trap between the lines. Worse still was that the trap was set before any one of them could have realised it.

To accept and serve would allow Cadmar to treat 2nd Platoon as he saw fit with no consequence for his own actions. No matter how arbitrary. The position would also make Cadmar untouchable as their oaths prevents them for doing him harm while at the same time protecting him from any harm else they be dishonoured for failing their tasks.

To deny the honour would not only insult the Junior Commissar but might as well spit on the face of entire Commissariat for their word was Law and must be obeyed. The consequence being execution for insubordination. Worse still was the black mark of dishonor it casts in their clan's history. One that would reach even their descendants for the generations to come like a curse as they would be made as outcasts in Vostroyan society. A fate worse than death in their culture.

It was a double edged sword that would doom them either way. Sgt. Uskovich despised the Junior Commissar all the more because of it but he cant help but be at awe of the man's cunning. No matter how cruel it was for the fates of him and his Guardsmen. As for the choice itself, Sgt. Uskovich could not help but choose the lesser of two evils.

"2nd Platoon answers the call." Sgt. Uskovich said as he stamped a fist on his chest.

" **We answer**!" 2nd Platoon said and did the same. "For the Emperor! For the Omnissiah!"

"Good." Cadmar nodded. Savouring his dominion over them with a smile others – save for the Sergeant – mistaken for pride.

Their sector's artillery salvos fired on the mark. Cannon fire and mortal blasts rumbled behind their lines. Shells and shots stream over 9th Company's heads before exploding in the distance in quick succession.

"Comrades! Streltsy!" Cadmar addressed amidst the thunderous barrage. "The pride of your Company! Your Regiment! Your Imperium! Is on the balance! Your deeds today will echo in the Codex of your Regiment! To the Histories of this world! Stories persisting long after you are dead! What will be written there however will be defined by you! Your actions! Your deeds here today! Be it of Glory? Be it of Shame? What say you?"

" **GLORY**!" The Streltsy cried with their guns raised high.

Mortars and cannons ceased their bombardment just as Cadmar climbed out of the trench. Standing above everyone's heads, he raised his chainsword high as it bathed in the red sun's rays. Foreshadowing the promise of the blood it shall shed that day.

"The Emperor, upon high on Holy Terra, is watching!" Cadmar cried out. The rebreather mask he slipped onto his face distorted his voice to a deep snarl. " **Attack**!"

" **URAAAAAAAAAAA!"** The Streltsy cried aloud as they emerged from the trenches.

By the time they did, the Junior Commissar was more than a dozen paces ahead of them. Cadmar's chainsword drowned out their battlecries as its buzzing roar led the way. By the fury of raging battle around him. By the blood boiling to its peak. Cadmar too fell on the same fervour for battle he casted upon his Guardsmen. One that charged forth with blade and Bolter. One who's hunger could only be satisfied by slaughter and death.

The desolation of No Man's Land was a sharp contrast to what it felt like being in the trenches. It was one thing to look at it through the portholes but something else entirely once you step foot in it. The irony of it all was that the trenches felt less constrained and claustrophobic than the world beyond it. The thick musk of gunpowder, ash, and death was suffocating even from behind their own rebreather masks. Stone and debris poured like rain after every bone shaking blast. The trembling earth loosened the ground that slogged every step.

The Imperium's roaring guns earned their keep as it paved every scene with blasted earth and corpses of all shapes and forms. Some were half buried from avalanches of ash and dirt caused by artillery. Others were scattered pieces of limbs and misshapen bodies. Most lied as they were. Fallen flat or on top of each other wracked by shrapnel with empty eyes filled with either terror or regret. All were a sight to behold for Cadmar who relished every look of it.

" _Comrade-Junior Commissar."_ Cadmar's micro-bead came to life with Pvt. Olenov on the line. " _A Portal at your 2 o'clock. 30 seconds. Good luck, sir. Over."_

" **Streltsy, spread out!"** Cadmar ordered. His voice was made more menacing by the distortion of his rebreather. " **2** **nd** **Platoon, on me!"**

" _ **Yes, sir!"**_.

The path was clear but was by no means safe. The sounds of battle was deafening as it raged around Cadmar. Shells exploded from only feet away. Lasfire beams raced over his head. The ground bursted from stray Bolters. Worse still was the massive wall of smoke in front of him. Emperor alone knows what or how many foes hid behind its black curtains.

Cadmar slowed his pace to a jog as he entered it alone. His Bolter Pistol was his vanguard while his chainsword was his support. The rest he did himself. There he was beset by echoing sounds of clashing metal, bestial roars, and crackling lasfire. All of it was happening so close yet unseen. The threat of the unknown trembled right hand madly not out of fear but out of excitement. Hungry to savour for the promise of battle that was coming his way.

His instincts shouted to his right in time to meet a massive shadow materialising behind the smoke. Cadmar did not think twice and braced as his Bolt Pistol kicked hard as it launched its massive bullet into the dark figure's chest. The gun's muzzle flash revealed a hulking Wolfman with black fur before disappearing into fine red mist that took a large part of its body.

The ensuing explosion blew the black Wolfman apart as well as the smoke surrounding it. Enoughh to reveal two more of its fellow Wolfmen between the blasted cadaver's flanks. Gore and shrapnel splattered itself on their massive furry frames. Stunning them and giving Cadmar the opening he needs to slay them. The Wolfman on the left met a similar fate as the first. Turning the once proud mighty warrior into a disembodied husk of spilling entrails in a split second. The remaining Wolfman faced a more gruesome fate as it met Cadmar's chainsword head on. Its grinding teeth promised a heinous tortuous death in the next few seconds that would last in the beast's short lifetime.

A Bolt Pistol was a mercy compared to the horror that was the chainsword. It was a ravenous predator with serrated teeth that bit deep and bloody into its victim's flesh. Slicing, Tearing, and shredding through anything that gets in its way whether it be Metal, leather, hide, flesh, and bone. Tools and armor that might as well be twigs and paper amidst a gruesome display of savagery. There was no beauty in its art. No grace in its craft. Only the haunting sounds of the weapon's unnatural buzz of its revving teeth and the spine chilling screams of death.

The same sounds heard by the nearby Feudals that stopped their fervour and bloodlust on its tracks. There was no din of battle around them. No enemies to fight. No glory to be found. The only thing in there was and is in front of them was the horror of a large 7 foot Wolfman being cut in a messy half. Torrents of blood fell on them like rain. Sounds of devilish screams pierced their souls as a barbed arrow. A scene that the very few who survived the battle would carry on to their dreams as they tell of its aftermath. A horror in black walking on a large pool that was red as the blood that stained him.

Superstition and fear did the rest as every Feudal – human and otherwise – were petrified. Their eyes grew wide and their mouths hung agape. Foul humours trickled down their pants. The weaker willed collapsed in fear.

Cadmar saw this well and unknowingly played into the Feudal's primitive fears. Fears that Cadmar took advantage of in any way he could. His Laud Hailer and rebreather mask distorted his voice to a guttural roar that was heard across the battlefield.

" **BEWARE!"** Cadmar bellowed at the top of his lungs. " **FOR THE GUARD IS HERE!"**

It was the blaring sound and not the words that caused the Feudals to route. The language of the Outworlders was as alien to them as it was fearsome. Full of hate and spite. Full of energy and will. Enough to shake the very bones in every warrior's body as they abandoned their weapons and ran. But not before a number of them were shot down by the Horror in Black and his near invincible troops.

Hundreds of Feudal warriors routed before one man. Gore rained down amidst every swing. Spine chilling screams and blood curdling buzzes littered the chaos while Bolter Shells blew apart any foe that was beyond his reach and sent a handful reeling from its shrapnel. All the while scores were shot down from unseen Lasfire.

" **Die Mutant!"** Cadmar shouted as he buried his chainsword deep into a Satyr Buck's chest. The roaring blades disemboweled guts into chunks while blood gurgled out from the goat's mouth.

Two more Demi-Humans, a Lion Man and a Satyr challenged Cadmar with bared fangs and weapons. Both yelled the names of their gods in their lips but fell to their knees yelling for their dismembered legs after it was blasted apart by Cadmar's Bolter. Both grovelling were quickly silenced with a heavy boot on their heads.

" **Kneel before the Emperor of Man!"** Cadmar raised his blood soaked chainsword high as more of the Feudal's monsters emerged from behind the smoke.

" **FOR THE EMPEROR!"** Voices rallied from behind the smoke.

2nd Platoon's arrival was heralded by a relentless barrage of Lasfire that burned through the embers as it did the remaining Feudals that Cadmar had yet to touch. Dozens of the beasts dropped like flies before any of them realised that they were dead. The larger ones, like Orks and Boar-men, were the first ones to be ruptured by bullet holes. The aftermath left them as nothing more than burnt out husks.

The Warrior Bunnies, Satyrs, and other quick footed warriors closed the distance with claw and steel bared. Fast as they were, their speed could match Lasfire rounds and were all shot down quickly before making it at arm's length. The handful that managed to engage did not fare any better as the Streltsys expertly struck them down with the butt of their guns or with their firsts before finishing them off with either a shot or a sword.

Cadmar was in the middle of impaling a Warrior Bunny into his chainsword when a bright tear appeared at the corner of his eye. A sight he easily spotted despite the blood that stained his goggles. The air gave birth to a portal a few yards ahead of him. Screaming as it tore itself open like a white sheet. Bright forks of energy crackled from the bright purple tear while discharging flowing currents that swirled in size at every turn. The ground was scorched black from the snapping Warp flames that grew wide until the Portal fully materialised amidst a crackling barrage.

" **Streltsy! Reload!"** Cadmar ordered while he did the same for his empty Bolter Pistol.

No sooner did the Junior Commissar and the Streltsy fed their weapons anew did the next wave of enemies charge out from its maelstrom. A battalion of Feudal men-at-arms emerged en masse with spears and hooded skirmishers with bows. The skirmishers arranged themselves into rows behind the spearmen and began pulling on their bow strings

The Guardsmen were easily the first sight they saw. The outworlder's brightly colored uniforms made for a good first impression and tempting targets. There was no lull or hesitation on the Feudal's part when they began peppering Cadmar and his Streltsy with their spears and arrows.

The projectiles showered the Guardsmen like rain but none of their number fell or were wounded to the Feudal's shock and disbelief. Arrows shattered before Carapace layers. Spears glanced off against the Streltsy's thick ornate armour and fell harmlessly under a heavy boot. Even the layers between the gaps and joints of their armor barred any steel from piercing through.

" **Fire at will!"** Cadmar ordered. Opening the volley with a shot from his Bolter Pistol.

20 shots of Lasfire complimented for every one arrow loosened. Scores of men and beasts were mercilessly cut down before they could raise their blades or even step foot out of the portal. Many failed to draw back their spears or fit arrows to their bows before a stray shot struck them dead. The crimson display of beams were so intense that it burned up any volley of arrows or spears to embers mid-flight.

" **Incoming! Right in top of us!"** A Streltsy warned at the group of enemy flyers bearing down at them.

Scattered remnants of Pegasi knights and Gryphon riders emerged from the smoke. With one last flap of their wings, they parted the black clouds and glowed with the sun shining behind them. Their steeds cried out an ear piercing cry before dropping to a dive while their Riders couched lances or drew their bows.

" **Flyers! Eyes high! Eyes high!"** Cadmar warned with his chainsword pointed to the sky

The Streltsy welcomed them in kind with a light show of death that showered the fields with blood. The fearsome wind billowing monsters were minced to meat in a short few seconds. Their blasted corpses fell like autumn leaves as it crashed down hard onto the ground or atop their comrades in front of the portal.

Lacking HUD goggles the Streltsy possessed, any attempt Cadmar had to shoot had to be done relying on his own eyes behind stained goggles. A near impossible endeavour given the thick walls of ember trickled smoke that suffocated ones eyes as it did ones throat. The limited visibility made limited Cadmar's rate of fire to shooting at any shadow that came his way. A wise plan on paper but not when a wide winged Pegasus Knight came charging in and swiped at Cadmar with its silver hooves.

The knight atop it lunged forth with his lance just as his beast struck. The weight of the lance, the strength of the arm, and the momentum from the steed's landing made for a powerful weapon that easily tore through the sinews of armor in Cadmar's greatcoat when it struck him on his side. The rest would have impaled the unsuspecting Junior Commissar if it werent for the Carapace breastplate he wore underneath.

The lance's solid steel tip and the ironwood shaft shattered to flights of shrapnel. Cadmar fell hard to the ground while his Carapace armor held at the cost of a shallow gash on its shining plate. Dazed but unperturbed, Cadmar acted fast and pinned what was left of the lance in place. Twisting his left arm with his greatcoat around it before pulling the trigger aimed for the knight's arm.

The bolt shell dug deep and through the lance's shaft. The ironwood cracked amidst splinters until the bullet broke into the knight's hand. Shattered his wrists and fingers to pieces. The bolt shell continued through his arm like a drill through hardwood wood. Tearing muscles, veins, and bone before ending with an explosive finish into the knight's shoulder. Taking the knight's limb, a substantial piece his right chest, and left half of the knight's face a gruesome display of a hanging jaw spitting chunks of meat and teeth.

The Pegasus recoiled with a screech. Raising itself to its hind legs as it flapped its wings back in panic. Its sharp ears rang bells from the close booming shot and unwittingly gave Cadmar another opportunity to finish it off with a well placed shot into its chest. The Bolt cut into the Pegasus's chest and exploded inside. Tattering its innards that spilled out from its every crevice along with its fallen rider still strapped to its saddle.

Cadmar's victory did little to shift the scales and the Feudals on the ground were on their way to tip it to their favour. Too focused on the enemies in sky, barely anything was pinning the enemy ground forces down in place. Reinforced with fresh troops from the portal, the Feudal soldiers saw the opportunity as ripe and attacked. The enemy was a few short yards away by the time Cadmar or anyone had noticed. Unable to shoot back as the power packs feeding their guns were running empty.

" **Here they come!"** A Streltsy cried as the enemy emerged up the slopes.

Too many and too close to reload their exhausted weapons, Cadmar could do little else but to meet the enemy head on with a counter charge. He motioned to his laud hailer to call out the order but instead found a broken arrow embedded deep into the device disabling it. The same went for his vox caster's receiver.

" **Damn it all!"** Cadmar gritted his teeth.

With the cacophony of noise besieging him from all sides and with his throat growing coarse from all the shouting, his Guardsmen would be hard pressed to hear him. The enemy was only a scant few yards now and Cadmar walked forth to meet them. His chainsword revved at this hand. Hungering for another bloody clash. But before he could yell out a charge, a voice shot out behind him.

" **Pavelovna!"** Sgt. Uskovitch cried out to one of his Guardsmen.

" **Right!"** A Streltsy exclaimed and advanced.

There was a noticeable skip in the soldier's step. Excitement stemming from the large Flamer it brandished. Tongues of fire clicked from its barrel amidst rasping howl hissed from its nozzle.

" **BURN HERETIC!"** Sty. Pavelovna cursed the enemy and set the world alight.

Swathes of Feudals were bathed in flames. Turning throngs of men into living bonfires that ran and trashed on the ground in a vain attempt to kill the flames. Even the bravest and the mightiest forsaken their pride as they wailed with boiling tears and knelt amidst tortured screams. Curled in the ground as grim statues of ash.

A single drop of Promethium was said to be enough to set a city ablaze. Sty. Pavelovna was close to spraying them with her first gallon. Burning men in the dozens collided with their comrades in their hundreds in a manic attempt to escape. A cause that further spread both the panic and the chemical flames down the ranks like wildfire. Cooking men in their flesh and beasts in their furs with their armor made to ovens that darkened them further.

" **You're with me!"** Cadmar shoved the Flame trooper forward. **"Move** **!"**

Sty. Pavelovna grunted with the same enthusiasm as the hissing Flamer. Paving a hellish path of living fire and ashen death in front of them. Cadmar was not far behind and covered the flanks. Finishing off any Feudal who didn't turn into a walking bonfire. The road to the Portal soon laid clear. A bright charred road paved in fire and ashen statues of the dead.

With every foe dead or routing, the two soon arrived in front of the portal. Sty. Pavelovna contained the Feudals pouring from the Portal by feeding with flames that turned every Feudal inside to screaming slags.

" **Keep the pressure!"** Cadmar barked and tore the only Melta Bomb from the Streltsy's pack. " **Stop when I get close!"**

" **Yes sir."** Sty. Pavelovna replied and fed the Portal with a fresh draught of chemical flames.

Promethium Fire that burned hotter and brighter than any torch, fuel, or spell that backwater world has ever seen. The chorales heard from inside best describes their response. With haunting screams and wails that echoed from all sides that left nothing more than charred dead and red laced skeletons running for dear life.

The Melta-Bomb soon put an end to all of it. 10 seconds appeared on the dial from a twist of a nob. Enough time for Cadmar to deliver and escape without incident. The Bomb slowly glowed red along with a rising heat. Sty. Pavelovna ceased her fire just as Cadmar was right next to the Portal where in the Junior Commossar tossed it inside in time before the heat became unbearable.

Cadmar did not wait to watch the fruits of his sacrifice. He legged it the moment the bomb slipped off his fingers. Running for dear life away from the upcoming explosion.

" **Almighty God-Emperor."** Cadmar prayed as he ran. " **Let this work"**

Cadmar did not see the explosion but he could imagine it as something powerful as it threw him off of his feet. The shockwave blew a gust of force that sent anything not nailed down flying off. That included Cadmar, Sty. Pavelovna, and the mountains of corpses they made.

To the Guardsmen and Feudals in the battlefield, they watched as the Portal imploded from inside its gaping maw. Its swirling streams spilled wide with its tendrils spreading out like gushing water before reeling back into its misshapen core. Grabbing onto anything it could get its hands on. Everything from plants, to corpses, to stones, and man were pulled in by the raging tide before being swallowed into a gaping hole. The Portal finally died when it imploded on itself and erased everything out of existence. That includes most of the smoke that scoured most of their battlefield.

Similar explosions were heard from afar. Similar bright flashes of lights were seen from the distance. It was only until his vox came back to life did Cadmar finally fell to his knees and laughed.

" _ **Sgt. Chornovil. Mission is accomplished with 1 wounded**_ **. Over."**

" _Sgt. Stefanyk. 2 wounded. One dead Portal. Over."_

" _ **Sgt. Mikhayluk. 3 dead. 2 wounded and mission kill on 2 portals. Over."**_

More officers from other squads chimed in to report their success of their objectives. Not only that, most of their unit were still intact and each squad received few casualties. The sight of his Squad of Strelsty still standing above the hill's slopes and finding a soot coated Pvt. Pavelovna gave Cadmar cause to make his report to the rest of the company.

" _ **Sgt. Uskovich. Zero casualties. One portal. Over**_ **."**

The Sergeants obvious disdain for Cadmar was made evident there. Though there were more pressing matters required attention, the thought of how far that poison could fester was quite concerning.

"Are you alright, Comrade-Junior Commissar? **"** Sty. Pavelovna asked with a surprisingly light and feminine tone.

What stood before Cadmar was a Streltsy freed from the confines of a rebreather mask. First Born Noble with a surprising humble beauty that was neither stunning or modest. A young face with strands of golden hair slipping out from her helmet, a sharp pug nose, and thin modest lips. Her skin was porcelain white but her grit was by no means fragile. Heavy yet striking grey eyes hid cold iron beneath.

" **I am."** Cadmar said as he slowly got back up to his feet alone. His eyes lingered to where the Portal once stood that was now a black mark on the field. **"Well done, Corporal Pavelovna."**

"You command. I obey, Comrade-Junior Commissar **."** Sty. Pavelovna replied matter-a-factly.

Patting off the dirt off of her mask, the young woman locked herself away from the world and once more stood as a dutiful Streltsy.

" **The others would do the same."** She said.

" **I am sure."** Cadmar nodded. " **We regroup with the others."**

" **Sir."** Sty. Pavelovna saluted and followed close behind as the two ran up the hill.

" **Most of the Portals are gone but there might be few remaining."** Cadmar reflected. " **Vox Pvt. Olenov about it."**

" **Yes, sir."** Sty. Pavelovna obeyed and pressed on her Vox's receiver in her ear. " **Ryadovyy Olenov. Kapral Pavlivna. Yoho Vox zlamanyy. Vin maye mene i khoche novyn na Portali. Chy prykhodyatʹ bilʹshe? Zaraz!"**

Expecting to hear Common Vostroyan, Cadmar piqued his ears to overhear the conversation and perhaps pick up a few words along the way. Though some words were familiar, it came as a surprise for him to discover that he barely understood - or let alone follow a single phrase or sentence of it. The only conclusion he picked up from it was that Sty. Pavelovna spoke a distant dialect of Vostroyan that was rooted from Common Vostroyan.

" **Well?"** Cadmar asked.

" **Private Olenov confirms only one left but it is different."**

" **Explain."** Cadmar stopped in his tracks and saw the faint alarm in the Corporal's eyes.

" **The enemy is being cunning now, the Private says."** Sty. Ludmilla warned. " **They use what psykers they have left to summon a much bigger Portal. Big enough to send their whole army I believe. Or something bigger here."**

" **When?"**

" **At any time now, the Private says. Are we to withdraw?"**

The two were soon joined by the rest of the squad with Sgt. Uskovich at the helm. Most of the Streltsy held positions around them while the Sergeant stood to address Cadmar.

" **They'll be on us soon. We wont last out here, Comrade-Junior Commissar."** Sgt. Uskovich pointed to the foot of the hill. The bulk of the Feudals' Army was fast approaching and their vanguard began ascending the hill in the form of horsemen. The ground rumbled from the thunder of their hooves and they were fast approaching.

" **Are we done here?"** The Sergeant asked.

Before Cadmar could reply, he stopped short when he saw the alarm on the Sergeant's eyes. The faint reflection on the officer's goggles showed the familiar sight of a crackling tear appearing in midair.

" **No. We are not."** Cadmar said to both Streltsy as he turned to face the crackling portal. **"Sergeant."** He ordered. " **Vox all Streltsy. Make this our rally point. Bring them all here."**

" **They are already well on their way, Comrade-Junior Commissar."** Sgt. Uskovich nodded.

Cadmar turned to glance at the rest of his squad and beamed with pride as every Streltsy acted befitting to their titles. Treating the new threat as a new challenge to be faced with vigour. There was no hesitation or command when they jumped into action and created a wide firing line with overarching fields of fire. All done without a single step back. Not an inch of ground was to be given to the enemy as they checked their ammunition and prepped their weapons all the while whispering litanies to steel themselves for the coming battle.

Yet ready as they are, Cadmar was quick to notice lingering hints of hesitation was seen festering behind some of those steely eyes. The great unknown awaits them from behind the thin veil and mortals know well enough to fear it. Given their superstitious nature, Vostroyans are amongst the ones keener to this than most. A fearsome storm was about to break out before them and Cadmar needed every Guardsman ready to face it. Even if he was not ready to face it either.

" **Streltsy Kovelenko. Day mne etu Melta-Bomb**."** Cadmar ordered the Guardsman nearest to him with an open palm.

Sty. Kovelenko was taken aback by Cadmar's words. Hearing the words of his mother's tongue with his ears was taken with disbelief. Surprised that one not born in Vostroya could be so fluent in the language. Stunned but not dissuaded, the Streltsy obeyed and gave his Melta-Bomb to Cadmar's careful hands.

" **Comrades! Dvoryane Vostroyana!"** Cadmar spoke. " **Ya govoryu s Voley Imperatora! Golos tvoikh Predkov! I ty budesh' podchinyat'sya!***"**

The rest of the Streltsy shared the same look as Sty. Kovelenko when they heard the known words of their native Vostroyan escape from Cadmar's lips. It was a surprise to be sure, but one that was well welcomed. Speaking to them in their native language made it feel like Cadmar spoke to them not as a Commissar nor as an Officer but as a brother. As a fellow Vostroyan who spoke to them as an equal. An effect that amplified Cadmar's words to them even more.

" **Vrata Ada predstanut pered nami."** Cadmar continued. " **Vrazheskiye polchishcha ne sil'no otstayut! No nasha zadacha yeshche ne zakonchena. Poka etot portal ne budet unichtozen!****"**

The Portal entered the world with a flash of bright light amidst a dozen bolts of lightning. It opened with a deafening burst that blew powerful yet foul yet foul smelling gust blew at both Cadmar and his Streltsy. Throwing ashen corpses and blood stained armor their way. Ear piercing noise screeched from the portal's growing mouth as it widened the tear through the fabric of reality.

" **Net Otstupleniya!*****"** Cadmar rallied.

" **Ura!"** The Streltsy cheered.

" **Ne Sdavat'sya!*******"**

" **URA!"** The Streltsy cheered louder.

" **Bez Strakha!*******"**

" **BEZ STRAKHA!"** The Streltsy echoed with fanatical fervour.

Their war cries were swiftly swept away when a loud roar broke out from inside the Portal's gaping maw. A voice akin to the grounding advance of a mountain avalanche with an equally massive shadow that appeared behind the Portal's thin veil. This heralded the emerging monster whose colossal bulk blotted the sun on its back. Casting a blighted shadow upon all who looked upon them and whose heavy footsteps made the ground quiver under its burdening weight.

The Feudal's Giant Ogre towered over everything proudly. 3 stories tall with pulsating muscles, stone hard skin, and stitched leather armor torn from greater beasts that it had slain. The equally massive weapon it carried furthered the monster's ferocity and rank as it carried around a massive cleaver made out of a dragon's jawbone. Complete with chipped serrated fangs that were as long as an adult's arm.

" **KILL IT!"** Cadmar yelled. Welcoming the monster with a bolter shell to the face.

The Streltsy followed suit and unleashed a relentless stream of Lasfire aimed for every crevice found between the monster's armor. The Giant Horned Ogre flinched amd screamed from every shot. Sprinkling torrents of black blood onto the fields. Its ramshackle armor was set alight by Sty. Pavelovna that further pained and blinded the monster from the blood and shrapnel that already tore deep into its eyes.

The Giant Ogre retorted with howling cries that fuelled its rage. With a booming roar it swung its cleaver at them blindly but fell short from hitting Cadmar and his Streltsy. Instead it struck its fellow Feudal warriors around it and sent them flying from the powerful gust of dirt and debris it fanned. Cadmar and his Streltsy took the brunt of this barrage but emerged unscathed thanks in part for their armour. The volleys that followed blasted the Giant Horned Ogre's stubby fingers apart. Forcing the monster to drop its massive charred cleaver cluttering to the ground.

" **Its not dead yet! Keep firing!"** Cadmar commanded as he emptied another magazine.

" **Throne of the Emperor!"** Sgt. Uskovich cried. " **Here comes another one!"**

More Giant Ogres squeezed themselves out from the portal in the same way as the first. Each one was as massive and as ugly as the last. The only distinction between them being the shape and size of the spikes in their bodies and the varying crudeness of their clubbed weapons. Their lack of uniformity applied to their lack of cohesion among their ranks as the Giant Ogres shoved and pushed each other forward. Others going far as striking each other to show dominance and indifferently stepping on their allies who unfortunately got in their way as they advanced.

Stupid, clumsy, or otherwise, these Giant Ogres were a clear threat and a difficult opponent to kill. Cadmar's Troops have yet to kill one as the first Giant Ogre stubbornly refused to die despite its grievous wounds. Wounded, bleeding, and blinded, the Giant Ogre persisted with being a nuisance.

Fortunately for Cadmar, the inbred brute was being a bigger nuisance to its fellow monsters instead to his troops. The Giant Ogre swung its fists wildly like clubs. The strength of every blow was akin to a battering ram breaking through iron gates or like a trebuchet levelling stone walls. Its seething anger further fuelled the Giant Ogre's strength but blinded from telling who was friend from foe as shown when it head butted a much larger Ogre that sent it tumbling into the other Giant Ogres behind it.

More Feudals warriors, Demi-human or human alike, exited the Portal expecting battle only to find a berserking Giant Ogre slaughtering their way. Ranks of their warriors were shattered by a single swing. Dozens were crushed from a swat of its palm. Formations were blown away from the stomp of its massive feet.

" **Look out sir!"** A voice behind Cadmar cried.

Distracted and too awestruck by the epic scene, Cadmar failed to see an enemy Knight charging at him. Only noticing it when the lance was no more than a few feet away from his head. His story would have ended there if it werent for a burst of Lasfire that shot down the Knight and his horse. Tumbling bodies that barely grazed Cadmar's side when they slid past him to a dead halt.

Cadmar intended to thank the Streltsy who saved him. What he saw instead was a glimpse of the solder before another Knight passed and carried the Guardsman away. A lance impaled the man deep in the neck. The Feudal Army's Vanguard arrived at the head of thunderous hooves and from the points of a hundred lances.

" **Emperor Preserve us."** Cadmar cursed as more Knights charged at him.

A Knight lunged for Cadmar's face at the tip of his lance, a strike that Cadmar barely avoided as he threw himself to the side. Death was a mere kiss away as he felt the lance graze at his cheeks and only managed to rip his rebreather mask from his face. It would not be the last item he'd lose as his Bolter Pistol flew from his hands as he rolled a short distance down the hill. His fall was rough amd at the same time held the Melta-Bomb tight in his arms and protected it like a newborn baby. Life or limb, Cadmar knew that he cannot lose this bomb and the Imperium could not afford to lose the battle.

Cadmar did not waste a moment to get back on his feet and drew his chainsword once more in time to cut another Knight's lance short from impaling him. The horse reared back in fear and surprise from the strange weapon. The scent of viscera in its blades and the monstrous noise of its chains sent the animal to a panic. A distraction that gave Cadmar the opportunity to strike the Knight off of his horse with a swipe of his chainsword. Sparks and blood flew with the Knight as he crashed in the ground that shattered its limbs and left him dead with a large gash on his chest.

More promises of blood and battle were made amidst the chainsword's buzzing cries as it it eviscerated half of another horse's face before slashing off its rider's arm with two savage swings. A third Knight's charge fell short when Cadmar sliced off its steed's forelegs and sent them tumbling forward. The fall broke the beast's neck and crushed the rider atop of it when it rolled over.

Another Giant Ogre charged out from Portal. Breaking its way through the other brawling Ogres, this monster grabbed hold of the blind berzerking Giant Ogre and smashed its face to paste with a heavy blow of its crude mace. It did not take long for it to turn its head to Cadmar with a fuming snarl the moment his buzzing chainsword reached its ears.

In the face if such reckless hate akin to an avalanche, Cadmar could not help but smile ever wider. The Giant Ogre to him was not a titanic monster to him. He did not see it as a force of nature whom humanity bends to. All that he saw from under its great chilling shadow was just another opponent to slay. Another challenge to overcome. Another opportunity to show his purity to the Emperor whether he wins or loses.

Cadmar was bred and trained to prepare for both.

"Come on you **!"** He roared alongside his chainsword.

Before the two could clash, a volley of plasma shots flew overhead. Cadmar turned in time to watch the Giant Ogres disappear behind a flurry of blazing blue-hot flash of blinding light. In a split second, the once formidable monster was turned into a giant smoking carcass with pools of red-hot molten sludge pouring from its wounds.

" **DEATH TO THE ALIEN! URAAAA!"**

The other Streltsy Squads of the other platoons emerged from the hill's slopes on both sides of Cadmar's positions. Streams of red Lasfire struck the enemies flanks in a blazing display that felled many Feudals in droves.

Weapon Specialists, Streltsys armed with a unique variety of specialized guns, added to the volleys and furthered the slaughter. Each were terrible weapons that enhanced the abilities of a squad of 10 Guardsmen. Enabling to blunt the heaviest of Chivalric charges, scour the skies of Flyers, lay waste to fields of soldiers, and easily slay a Giant Ogre with only the cost of ammunition.

Flamers hissed as it painted the fields with hellish chemical fire. Hot-shot volleyguns wailed as it brightened fields with a torrentous a barrage akin to 50 Lasguns. Melta-Guns screetched as it melted through lines of Enemies as it ignored armor, magical or otherwise, and turn its foes into a hot sludgy heap. Plasma Guns hummed before spewing balls of bright

Light artillery and mortar shells from allied lines added to the slaughter. Feudals disappeared behind plumes of dust and blood. Giant Ogres were transformed into massive carcasses lacking limbs and flesh after daring to brave a barrage. Their defiant roars were easily swayed by artillery shells that turned their piggish heads into putrid paste before collapsing on their fellow Feudals in a earth shuddering finale.

"Glory to the first to die! **"** Cadmar cried to all who could hear him. His blood soaked chainsword led the way as he advanced forward.

The Portal was no more than a stone's throw away but the many corpses barred a clear path for him to tread. Namely the ones left behind by the Giants that forced him to circumnavigate around.

His lungs were strained by exhaustion. His nose burned from the corpse's noxious odour. His mind became hazy from both but neither of that mattered. All that mattered was his goal. One that was a mere turn around the corner. One that he planned to destroy in under 30 seconds on the dial.

The Portal shined where it stood as promised. Welcoming Cadmar with wide open tendrils that appeared to be beckoning to him. Almost as if begging him to end its miserable existence in the backwater world. Cadmar was more than happy to oblige. His heart could leap with joy at the though of destroying it at last and so it did when he felt his heart punch him in the chest.

A sharp ringing sound rattled Cadmar's head. He saw his feet being lifted off of the ground. He felt himself falling before crashing down with a shuddering thud. His chainsword was missing from his hands. The Melta-Bomb rolled off his fingers as it slowly glowed red. He felt the wind knocked out of his chest and found himself out of breath.

There was a sizeable dent in Cadmar's chest. One that was caused by a hammer that struck true in his breastplate. A large hammer belonging to the same Knight that towered over him. A Lordly Knight who One was adorned and draped in red that bore a sigil of a blooming pink rose atop a golden crescent. A company of Men-at-Arms watched the short duel a few paces behind him. Each bore the same sigil as their liege. This "Flower Knight."

"Fuck" Cadmar cursed at himself as he spat blood from his mouth.

His head rang a flurry of bells but these were preferred over the thoughts of his mentor, Commissar Mors, breathing down his neck over this. Berating about his Pride that blinded him from everything. Lecturing him about his lack of discipline and maturity. Reminding him of his shortsightedness and how it prevented him from seeing the grander scheme of things. Flaws that Commissar Mors warned would one day be the death of him.

That day appears to be now given by how this Flower Knight motioned his hammer. Raising it over Cadmar's head for a final blow. Cadmar had little fear of death but was by no means eager to meet her just yet. Of the many reasons he could petition about his survival, the selfish desire of proving Commissar Mors wrong was among the highest on Cadmar's list.

Cadmar kicked the Flower Knight's knees just as the hammer swung down. The heavy handed attack sent the Flower Knight's body falling forward into Cadmar's open arms and into a silver blade.

A Commissar's Ceremonial Knife is one of four Symbols of office given to any and all officers of the Commissariat. The adamantium forged steel blade represented the Commissar's unbreakable will. The Golden Aquila shaped hilt represented the Emperor who protects and the Imperium the Commissar was duty bound to protect. Cadmar enacted all three aspects while he slowly ran his knife from one corner of the Knight's neck to the other.

"Jst…fucking. Die!" Cadmar gasped while the two men wrestled with each other.

The Flower Knight feverishly resisted in between gurgling breaths. One hand struggled with the knife, while the other clasped around Cadmar's throat in a desperate attempt to crush it. Both men struggled to do the other in but the Flower Knight soon gave out once the last ounce of his blood left him. His last breath followed quickly after it and dropped dead. The full weight of the corpse and its armor partly sunk Cadmar in the ground.

There was a brief respite to be earned here despite how critical the situation was and how it was no place in the battlefield. Nevertheless, Cadmar indulged in it and considered it as the first deep breath of air he had since leaving the trench. Foul as the air he took in was. His heart was beating drums and the welcome pause made him give off a heavy sigh of relief in between spits of blood. That same sigh quickly turned into a shocking gasp when he found the Melta Bomb cooking right next to him.

Cadmar's hand darted out to reach it but fell an inch short. The heavily armored corpse pinned him in place. Exhaustion crept on him like an illness and burdened his body from moving an inch. The Melta-Bomb's dial ticked regardless and forced Cadmar rattle his brains for a solution.

"Knife!" Cadmar exclaimed and pulled it out of the Flower Knight's neck.

Using it to extend his arm, he reached out to the bomb where he managed to hook the knife's blade onto the Melta-Bomb's handle.

"Yes!" He rejoiced and began the arduous task of slowly reeling the bomb towards him. The device glowed to a threatening red at every hastening tick.

Just when the Melta-Bomb was within Cadmar's grasp, a heavy boot dramatically appeared. Forcefully stomping on the knife's blade and while a gloved hand pried the device from Cadmar's grasp.

"No!" Cadmar cried as he gripped onto his assailant's boot. Desperately attempt to reclaim his bomb.

"Comrade-Junior Commissar, it is an honor." a familiar voice spoke over him.

Cadmar found his assailant to be none other than Sty. Pavelovna standing over him and on his knife. Second to his shock of her unexpected arrival was the shock of her appearance that was in a worse state than from the last time they met. In the short time since then, the Streltsy specialist was bloodied from a dozen wounds and her armor was battered from a hundred blows. A broken sword was all she had left while her tattered right arm held tightly to the glowing red Melta-Bomb. Her broken rebreather mask exposed her bruised face and her bloodshot eyes. Beautiful yet tired grey eyes that blinked to him one last time as though accepting an unwanted destiny.

"Glory." She nodded to him.

Before Cadmar could do anything or even call out her name, Sty. Pavelovna disappeared from existence. He watched helplessly as Sty. Pavelovna was cut down before his very eyes. Half a dozen spears impaled her body. Her limbs were hacked away by swords and axes. Her body fell back from the weight of her foes baring down on her amidst jeers and coarse screams. Her head flew from its neck as it was decapitated. Sent rolling to the ground not far from Cadmar's side, it came to a slow stop with Sty. Pavelovna's face pointed at him.

Those same grey eyes looked back at him. Dead as all the others from before save for a riddle. An irony as Sty. Pavelovna's eyes were wide unlike the same tired eyes Cadmar knew her with. This one showed her last moments to have been kissed by life or rivetted by energy while her lips were etched with a mysterious smile. This riddle made Cadmar question why. The answer did not stray from him long as it laid before the bright light beamed before him.

Somewhere during the chaos. Seconds before the first blade touched her. Sty. Pavelovna managed to throw the glowing Melta-Bomb over the Feudals' heads and into the swirling portal. None of the warriors took notice. Their ignorance of the weapon prevented them from stopping it. Sty. Pavelovna's presence as an easy kill blinded the Feudals from everything else.

Whether it was by luck or by her design, Sty. Pavelovna succeeded in her mission. In her final moments, Sty. Pavelovna destroyed the portal. Whether she saw it before her demise or otherwise was a secret she takes with her beyond the grave.

Cadmar was close to meeting his own grave given his close proximity to the hot-zone. There was no eruption. No blazing explosion. There was only a beam of light that turned anyone and anything under its rays to something akin to melted wax. Cadmar was spared because the Flower Knight's corpse took the brunt of the damage. Turning most of its back into a heated sludge of meat.

Anyone closer to the epicentre were simply erased from existence. A fate that most of the Psykers and the soldiers waiting on the other side of the portal faced. Cadmar had no way of knowing this, mind you, but that much was obvious as the Portal began imploding on itself as it did before with bolts of lightning and slithering tendrils bleeding out of it. The only difference of which was that Cadmar was damgerously close to where all of it was.

Cracks of lightning was dodged by a hair's breadth. Tendrils swayed and coiled around anything it held as it was being pulled into the the Portal's screaming maw. One such tendril grabbed hold of what was left of the Flower Knight's corpse and freed Cadmar from its stifling weight.

That freedom was short lived however. The moment Cadmar slipped away from the corpse, a tendril latched onto his arm. Before the tendril could grip tight, Cadmar struck it with his knife that was no more than a blur between his fingers. To his surprise, there was no meat nor bone to challenge the blade. Only air and a wisp from the energies that made up the filthy tendril.

"Foul sorcery." Cadmar cursed.

More tendrils struck and quickly grabbed hold of Cadmar's body. Pain ran through his body as each coiling limb felt like a tongue of fire that was singeing to his skin beneath his armor. Struggle as he might, he was thrown to the ground and was being dragged towards the collapsing Portal along with everything unfortunate enough to befell the same fate. And like the rest, there was little that Cadmar could do to avoid the inevitable but as any dying man would, never stopped him from desperately trying.

"I will not end like this." Cadmar snarled amidst the pain. "Not to me!"

His knife glistened with the warp tendril's hellish purple light as he continued to attack any of it in vain. Not once did he release his grip from the weapon. Not once did he release his grip on its Aquila.

"Oh, Almighty God-Emperor." He prayed as he was being lifted off the ground. "Father of the Imperium. Protector of Mankind. I give myself onto thee. Your Will be done. To whatever fate awaits me in Hellish Void of the Warp. Know that I will never stop fighting. Know that I will never stop speaking Your name in my lips. Know that I know no fear."

The prayer helped lift his spirits from his imminent demise but it did little to deny it. Struggle as he might, the forces behind the warp held sway and continued to pull him unimpeded until he was no more than mere meters away from the collapsing Portal. The tendrils carried him upright to face its gaping maw and the eternity of horrors that lay in wait within it.

"You wont see me beg!" Cadmar shouted in defiance despite his excruciating pain. "You wont be getting my soul! Not without a fight! So do your worst! Bring it! I'm not afraid to die!"

 _Nor will you, Junior-Commissar sir._ A voice whispered in his mind.

No sooner could Cadmar blink did an unexpected cooling blue light began emanating from his body. The tendrils were forced back from the light and sent recoiling away when it encountered the psychic hoarfrost that cracked above Cadmar's skin. More tendrils gathered around him to strike but a deafening clap blew them away like scattered leaves.

Not a single second was spent for Cadmar to think or let alone gasp when he was unceremoniously thrown to the air. Not too high that he escaped the suffocating stench of the battlefield. But low enough that he was racing through the smoke like a massive bullet.

For a moment there, Cadmar thought that he had already entered the madness that was the Warp. The Stories he heard of its nonsensical nature and madness inducing miasma began to slowly make sense. So much so that a twinge of fear crawled up and struck his spine. To his surprise, that twinge was no more than the arms who caught him as he fell.

"We got him!" The voices cried. "Get us out of here!"

The ground around him rumbled as it moved. Dazed, out of breath, and confused, any action that Cadmar opted to was violent. Stabbing and slashing at the many faceless figures that surrounded him.

"Hold him still." One of the voices ordered. "Junior Commissar! Junior Commissar! You are safe now!"

"Who?" Cadmar asked. His eyes adjusted to the light. "Where am i?"

"It's me sir. Your adjutant!"

"Pvt. Olenov?" Cadmar asked unsurely.

Sure enough, the private appeared above him. Dawning relief was clear on his face.

"Yes, Comrade-Junior Commissar!" Pvt. Olenov rejoiced. "You are atop a Chimera now. The Colonel has deployed a pair and two of his Hellhounds to evacuate you and the others."

Cadmar jolted upright. True to the Private's words, they were indeed atop a Chimera land transport that was racing up the hill. Other Chimeras nearby did the same with Streltsy perched atop of it. The same was said for the Chimera he was riding. A pair of Streltsy flanked the private. Opposite to them was the Psyker Lyudmilla.

"The Psyker sensed your plight, Junior Commissar sir, before she embarked on the Chimera." Pvt. Olenov explained. "I stood by her all the way though. Assuring that she stays in line, of course. We made it in time to pick up your Squad and have the Psyker rescue you from the Portal."

"The Psyker." Cadmar turned to the woman who in turn shivered under his cold gaze but not before bowing to him.

Cadmar said nothing in return. Not by mouth nor by mind. He didn't think about owing the Psyker anything as it did as it was ought to do. What only consequences of its actions only increased its usefulness and its reliability to him with his tasks. He left things as it was between them before returning to his adjutant.

"You will get me a gun and a sword." Cadmar ordered. "As well as a new vox hailer. That will be your immediate task the moment we return to the trenches. I do not care what you give me as long as I get it before the next attack."

"What of your wounds, sir?" Pvt. Olenov protested. "They are grievous, if I could say."

"We have still a battle to win and a medicae on board." Cadmar pointed to one of the Streltsy who did bear the sigil of a medicae and the Junior Commissar's next orders. "You are to get me in shape the moment we disembark this vehicle. Do as you will on how, but make it so."

"Yes, Comrade-Junior Commissar." The Streltsy saluted and began his work.

"The battle is far from over, Guardsmen." Cadmar said. "Nor will this be the last. This is the first of many. Let us strive to win them all. In the Emperor's Name."

"For the Emperor." The Guardsmen saluted.

XXXXXXXXXX

It is a relief to have finally finished this. I hope the next one would finish much faster. Till next time, Comrades. And I would love to hear your thoughts on the comments.

*Translation from Ukranian- Private Olenov. Corporal Pavlovna. His Vox is broken. He has me and wants news on the Portal. Are more coming?

Now!

**Translation- **Streltsy Kovelenko. Give me your Melta-Bomb.**

***Translation - **Comrades. Nobles of Vostroya!"** Cadmar spoke. " **I speak the Will of the Emperor! The Voice of your forebears! And you will obey!"**

 ******** Translation- **The Gates of Hell appear before us!"** Cadmar continued. " **Enemy hordes are not far behind. But our task is not yet finished. Not until that portal is destroyed!"**

 ********* Translation – " **No Retreat!"**

 ********** Translation – " **No Surrender!"**

 *********** Translation –" **No Fear!"**

 ************ Translation –" **NO FEAR!"**


End file.
